Reconciliation
by Lady Enigmatic
Summary: Three American girls from the year 2011 come aboard for the journey of the Renown. Adventure, hilarity and–of course–romance ensue. Archie/OC, Wellard/OC, Bush/OC. COMPLETE.
1. Preface: Into The Blue

**This wasn't part of Reconciliation originally, but I decided to add a prologue to better explain a few things. My disclaimer and intro can be found in the first (next) chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing! It is much appreciated. (Which I know everyone says, but I mean it- I really do) :)**

_Preface: Into the Blue_

"And when I lose myself I'll think of you!" sang the dark-haired girl, purposefully making her voice as loud and obnoxious as possible. She strolled aimlessly around the park, her arms linked with those of her two best friends. The moon was out, and not a cloud was in the sky. It was the Fourth of July, and she knew that fireworks would be going off any moment.

All three were dressed for the occasion, in handmade and thrift Revolutionary Era outfits. Each had curled their hair, and topped their heads with white bonnets. For most of the evening, they had been learning and dancing to European folk songs, but upon hearing the promise of a fireworks show in the park, the girls had left the ball.

The dark-haired girl, Amanda, called Amy, was the oldest of the three. She made sure that her life was full of laughter; either her own or another's. School had never been something she had taken seriously, though she was attending college. She was determined to make it big in the world, and was willing to take risks to get there. Acting, she was sure, would be her ticket out of this dumpy little town. But for now, she was stuck in a place where she wasn't wanted and never had wanted to be. Part of her didn't even know what she wanted out of life anymore. But for now, it was summer; the best time of the year. Now was a time when she didn't have to worry about anything, but she could just sit back and enjoy herself.

Next to her was a girl with brown hair, who's curls were beginning to straighten once again. Her name was Catherine, though forever her name had been shorted to the pet form, Cat. Some called her shy, but around her friend's she was quite talkative. Still, it was difficult for her to share her thoughts, especially if she knew that someone wouldn't agree or like what she had to say. Having graduated from high school last spring, her parents urged her to go to the university they had always wanted her to go to, and be a doctor- rather than an artist, as she had always aspired to be. Even though they weren't forcing her to go, Cat knew she would follow their wishes, as she couldn't bear to disappoint people.

The third girl was the smallest, and the youngest. Her wide, blue eyes and blonde hair gave off the impression of innocence, even naivety, though she was wise beyond her years. That was why she had found comfort in older company. Lottie was a thinker; she liked pondering, she enjoyed experiencing wonder and viewing the world around her with optimism. She was entering her senior year of high-school, partly with excitement, partly with dread. The world seemed very large to her, and she seemed very small. All she held onto were her dreams; dreams of success, of love, of happiness. Things that she didn't see how she could obtain in this life, but sure that she would eventually reach them.

To the world, their friendship with one another seemed uncanny, even ridiculous. But they didn't care what anyone thought. Despite the differences between them that made each one of them unique, there was one thing that they shared together. This specialty was a TV series surrounding the adventures of a British navy officer, Horatio Hornblower, in the early 1800's. Each episode deepened further a world of its own; one where values such as duty, loyalty, honor and bravery were esteemed.

None of them could remember exactly when they had become enthralled by Hornblower. They only knew that it was one topic that would never be talked too much about, one that would forever remain a inextinguishable bundle of emotions and interpretations. Perhaps what the girls liked best about the series in that, while lost in Horatio Hornblower's world, they could forget the problems they had with their own. Lottie had even vainly longed to go back in time, and be there for herself. However, each of them knew that Hornblower would never solve their problems, nor would the escape it offered ever last. But, perhaps it had the potential to make their lives easier to face, and that was why they loved it so. Or, in Amy's case, it might have been that most of the characters were played by highly attractive men.

A swirl of light twirled in the sky above them, and a boom followed, announcing the beginning of the firework show. Red, green, purple, and yellow flashed across the night sky, receiving cheers and sounds of awe from its audience. The girls clapped along with the rest, entranced by the beautiful array.

Amidst all of the color and thundering, there was an explosion, but it wasn't in the distance, as the others had been. This one burst all around Cat, Amy and Lottie, blinding their sight with sudden bright light. But instead of fading, as all other lights had, this light continued.

"What the…." Amy began, but before she could even finish her thought, she felt a tugging sensation around her middle, as if something was pulling her from the inside, taking her away from everything. She still couldn't see anything

"Amy!" Lottie called, as she felt herself being lifted up by an unknown force. She tried to fight it, but try as she might, she continued to be jerked upwards. She could barely make out the shapes of her friends, all floating strangely upwards.

Hearing her friend's cry, Amy reached out for her. Lottie did the same, and the two held tightly onto one another. "What's happening?" Lottie yelled, but Amy was unable to answer her. The world around them was beginning to spin, faster and faster.

Cat tried to call out. All she could hear was a low hum; everything was whirring, echoing and bouncing all around her. Intermixed were the faint chords of "America, the Beautiful" that played from the band stand. And all the while she could feel herself being spun in incessant circles, again and again. She tried to force open her eyes, but even this small movement was impossible.

She felt a hand wrap tightly around her own, and she knew it had to be Lottie's. She managed to crack her eyelids open for a brief moment, and could see both Lottie and Amy, hair flying and mouths wide open, screaming. Strange, it was, that she couldn't hear them.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cat was aware that she could no longer feel a pulling; rather she felt the opposite. The sinking sensation that she was falling hit her, and as she opened her eyes again, she could see the world below, approaching rapidly. There was no time to pray, or scream- not even to think. She squeezed the hand that was holding hers tighter, faintly comprehending that she was going to slam into the earth momentarily.

Seconds later, Cat met the earth, but not in the way she was expecting. A wave of cold washed over her, and in an instant, she could move again. Her lungs burned, and she opened her eyes. All she could see was water. Kicking her legs hard, she fought her way to the surface. Gasping for air, she looked around her. As far as she could see, mountains of writhing, blue water encircled her.

Lottie and Amy broke through the surface, both sputtering and coughing. The two swam over to Cat, greatly relieved to see each other.

"Where are we?" Amy managed to choke out, before a wave crashed down upon her. As she returned to the surface, she was aware of something large and dark steadily approaching them. Her eyes, blurred by seawater, were unable to focus on the object.

Lottie could feel the cold creeping into her, her teeth beginning to chatter. Her fingers and toes were beginning to go numb, and the dark water pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. As she fought to keep her head above water, she thought she heard voices coming from behind her. Too weak to turn around, she listened. The voices were louder now, and she recognized the language- French.

**Now click the little button, **_if you dare_**, and read the rest of their story...**


	2. Time Travel, Hornblower & Frigates O My!

**FYI-**

**Pairings:** Wellard/OC Archie/OC Bush/OC/Horatio (NO SLASH)

**Disclaimer:** As you probably know already, I don't own the Horatio Hornblower characters, sadly. Not even Wellard. (sniffle) Though we do have tea parties from time to time... But anyway, this is my only disclaimer for my entire story.

Dear Readers,

Yes, I know you want to skip this part and read my story, but I have necessaries that need to be specified. I know there's a ton of time-travel stories with silly and immature girls from the future who somehow get together with HH characters, but hopefully this one is a bit different and my characters are slightly less silly and immature.

I think I should also recognize two of my closest friends, (who FINALLY got accounts, ahem: _HumanAlien_ and _Define X_) who take share in my love for these boys. They shared their ideas as well as bits they had written for this story.

Finally, PLEASE review. I accept anonymous ones! It really does make a difference. Thank you.

Peaces,

Lady E.

_Chapter 1: Time Travel, Hornblower & Frigates O My!_

Lottie felt as though she was going insane. Sitting in the small jolly boat, dipping constantly up and down with the waves, was making her completely nauseous. She turned to her two older companions to see how they were faring. Amy wore a perfect grimace. She met Lottie's gaze and returned her small, encouraging smile. Cat, on the other hand, was hunched down in the bottom of the boat, her eyes closed- fast asleep. Lottie sighed. Cat would be the only one who could sleep through the choppy sea.

The three of them had been best of friends for what seemed like forever. They had cried together, laughed together- their whole lives seemed to have been shared together. Each knew each other inside and out. Amy was the wild and flirty one of the three. There was never to be a dull moment when she was around! Cat was quite the opposite. Although not the oldest of the three, she was the leader of the group. Quiet and cautious, she thought everything carefully before proceeding, unlike her friends. Lottie was fun, bright and fiercely loyal. Though she was the youngest, Cat and Amy regarded her as their equal.

Now, here they sat in quite a predicament. They were tired, miserable and farther from home than they could have ever imagined. Lottie scanned the foggy horizon mournfully. The three of them had been sitting in the jolly boat for the last three days, having just escaped from a particular nasty French frigate called the _"Indomptable"_- the "Untamable". Lottie shuddered involuntarily at the thought of it. Her back still wore the not fully healed scars, proof of the Captain's wickedness. _The Captain._ No matter how hard she tried to forget him, the Captain's image haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear his loud and obscured laugh, and see his grotesque and crooked smile.

The Captain had not believed the girls when they told him they didn't have the slightest idea how they had come to appear in the water beside his ship. They had told him the blatant truth- that they were from America in the year 2011, two hundred and ten years in the future. Enraged by this impossible explanation, the Captain had accused them of witchcraft, or being spies at the least. All three had now agreed that if they were lucky enough to be found by another ship, though they solemnly hoped for an English-speaking, that they would tell a false story to explain their situation- it would be much safer that way.

he knew it would be a miracle if they would be rescued. They couldn't last much longer out here; the meager rations they had managed to bring with them had been extinguished. Hunger was already upon them, though she knew that it was dehydration, not starvation, would kill them.

Suddenly, she thought she saw something; a dark swift shape that skated in and out amongst the loosening fog. "Amy," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Amy sat up straighter. Blinking, she looked out across the rippling waters. Lottie pointed to the shape that was now steadily becoming larger and larger on the fast approaching horizon. Amy stared for a moment, hardly able to breathe from the overwhelming feeling of relief that came over her, before shaking Cat awake.

The three of them now stood, which is not something to be easily achieved on a rocking boat, and began to wave and shout frantically, ignoring their aching limbs and dry voices. The ship, as it was now clearly identified, came smoothly up beside the jolly boat and a rope was tossed over the side.

Amy grabbed onto it and hesitated. As the oldest of the three, nearly twenty, she was inclined to be the older sister or even mother of the younger two. She was partial in protecting Lottie especially, being sixteen, and age that Amy still considered 'innocent'. Exchanging a glance with Cat, who nodded, Amy passed the rope to Lottie.

Lottie looked as if she was going to protest, but Amy urged her forward before she could speak. Compliantly, Lottie used the rope and several steps built into the ship to make her way to the top.

"_Please, God, don't let this be a French ship,"_ she prayed silently. Several hands helped her over the railing of the ship, and she blinked in shock as she looked at the oddly familiar faces. She knew them, all of them, yet she had never met them before. Every rigging, every mast, every detail was burned into her memory, though she had never been aboard this ship before. It was the setting of her favorite movies, Horatio Hornblower.

"Are you alright there, Miss?" said a kindly gray-haired man that could be none other than Matthews. For a moment, the fact that a character she had formerly thought fictional was talking to her, she stumbled backwards, and would have fallen, had it not been for Matthews and Styles. Now, both sailors looked at her, concerned.

Nothing could have prepared Amy and Cat for the sight before them as they had climbed over the ship's side. There was Horatio Hornblower himself- looking at all of them with a slightly surprised expression. Not being used to seeing women straddle the wooden side would make them a surprising sight, Amy was sure.

Silence followed, as none of the girls knew what to say. How could something like _this_ happen? It was more than impossible to find yourself in a movie; it was completely ludicrous! Amy would have began swearing aloud- in German- if she could have spoken properly.

Cat was the first to recover from the initial shock. "Please, sirs, water," she begged- her voice quiet and ragged. The crew reacted immediately to the sound of her voice and the three were brought wooden mugs filled with water. They all gulped the sweet substance down, feeling it roll down their throats pleasantly. It was curious how good water could taste.

Abruptly, a booming voice arose from across the deck, startling the crew from their silence. Captain James Sawyer strode over to scold his lieutenants. "What is the meaning of this untimely interruption of my afternoon meal, Mr. Hornblower?"

Horatio answered, unabashed by the Captain's inculpatory tone, "It appears we have a few unexpected guests, sir."

"Is that so?" he roared at his lieutenants, clearly unaware of the three girls behind him. "That still gives you no excuse-

"Ahem," coughed Lottie softly, so softly that it was a wonder how anyone was able to hear her at all. The Captain turned around, fuming. Who dared to interrupt _him_? Then, upon laying his eyes on the new passengers aboard his ship, his face softened.

Now that her mouth had been thoroughly moistened, Lottie found herself able to talk freely. She spoke, "Please, excuse your men, sir. They were only saving us from that pitiful piece of wood they call a jolly boat." A few of the crew laughed, including the nasty bloke she remembered as Randall. Shuddering, she sincerely hoped she wouldn't have to see much of him while staying here.

The Captain's face softened because he was talking to a female, rather than what he thought to be an incompetent young man. "Then let me, Captain James Sawyer, welcome you ladies aboard His Majesty's Renown." He gave a small bow, and Amy, Cat and Lottie attempted curtsies. This was not easy, seeing as they had only seen such maneuvers in movies. The way he said "ladies" made Cat shiver. The Captain looked even more cunning and red-faced in person than he did in on her TV screen. "And what are your names?" the Captain asked them.

Lottie spoke first, "I am Charlotte O'Hara and these are my friends, Catherine Hampton and Amanda Galloway." Then, with a shiver and feeble smile, she tumbled backwards. Amy and Cat managed to catch her and set her back on her feet.

Matthews and Styles now looked more concerned than ever. Lottie could have sworn she heard one of them mutter, "She's not well." Lottie straightened, forcing herself to stand tall, despite the fact that she was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. If only she could sleep! Then she would feel better.

Captain Sawyer turned back to his lieutenants. "What, have you never seen women before?" he asked them chidingly, disgusted with their dumbstruck behavior. "Fetch them blankets- and have Doctor Clive inspect them at once!"

The youngest lieutenant, who the girls recognized as Archie Kennedy, led the three down the stairs and onto the second deck. "Seriously? I don't want that dirty old man 'inspecting' me!" hissed Amy as the trio made their way to the sick bay. Now that her tongue had been considerably loosed by the water, Amy was able to return to her normal chatty- and unashamedly blunt- self.

"Shh!" Cat quickly her, "You don't want to have to spring this ship too, do you?"

"No, not this one," Amy muttered as two tall midshipmen made their way past them, tipping their black hats to them politely. "Too many hotties." Cat rolled her eyes and Lottie stiffened a giggle. They could always rely on Amy to make light of any situation- even one that took place two hundred years before their time, not to mention in a movie.

Cat looked ahead at Archie, who held open the door of the sick bay. "Allow me to introduce myself- Kennedy, 4th Lieutenant," he spoke, tipping his hat at the three.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Kennedy, for escorting us here. We're pretty clueless as to where everything is," Cat told him, color beginning to creep up on her cheeks. Why did he have to be so darn cute? A simple twinkle of his eye sent her head over heels- and blushing besides! It didn't help any that he was right in front of her. He could see her reactions; no longer would she be able to giggle aloud like a lovestruck fangirl.

The three walked through the door and were presently assisted by Doctor Clive, who was quite bored, as he had no patients to assist to at the present. He poked and jabbed, asking how long they had been without food or water and other numerous questions. After several long minutes Lottie was getting quite tired of his prodding, and irritable besides. Her stomach screamed for food, something it had been without for an extended period of time. So when Doctor Clive pressed a hand into her back on a particular raw wound she cried aloud, "Crap!"

At the same moment, Midshipman Henry Wellard opened the door. He was a bit surprised to hear such a phrase from a woman. In truth, he did not actually know if such a phrase existed. Also, he felt a bit awkward at the sight of seeing three women, something he wasn't the least bit used to. "Way to make a first impression, Lot," murmured Amy with a smirk. Cat's foot came swiftly down upon her toe. Amy and Cat both knew who had been predominantly squealing with delight every time Wellard came on screen while watching the HH movies. It was evident; Lottie _adored_ Wellard.

Fortunately for Lottie, Doctor Clive also appeared to be quite irritable, or maybe it was because Wellard had clearly interrupted his private 'inspection'. Nonetheless, he was unable to discover the numerous welts that crossed Lottie's back. She, for one, was glad of this. It wasn't that she wouldn't appreciate medical attention, it was rather that she didn't want to bring up painful memories- or have to try and explain how the welts had gotten there in the first place. Then again, the only 'medical attention' she would probably receive here was a pat on the head and a bottle of laudanum. Lovely.

"Well, what _is_ it, Mr. Wellard?" demanded Doctor Clive. Cat and Amy exchanged knowing glances. By now, Lottie was turning a soft shade of red- the most she had ever blushed before.

"_Someone has it bad,"_ mused Amy to herself, disguising a laugh with an exaggerated cough.

"Doctor Clive, sir, the Captain sends his compliments and requests the presence of our guests to his cabin for dinner," Wellard spoke quietly, seeming immune to the Doctor's irritability.

At the mention of dinner, Amy rose to her feet. It had been a long time since she had last eaten a decent meal. Clive dismissed the girls begrudgingly, and the foursome exited the sick bay. As the door shut behind them, they realized that regardless of how many times they had seen the Horatio Hornblower movies, they had no clue where the Captain's cabin was.

As Wellard turned to leave, Lottie called out, "Mr. Wellard," and then, to stay appropriate, "is it?" He turned back to face them, still holding his black little hat at his side. Their eyes now met for the first time, and Lottie certainly hoped it wouldn't be the last. "Could you show us the way? We have no idea where anything is."

Wellard smiled politely and said, "Of course, Miss O'Hara," and turned to lead them to their destination. Lottie thought that all this stiff formality was suppressing. Even though it had been little over a month since she had been called by her first name, she was always reminded of an old, stubborn lady when she heard 'Miss O'Hara'. Yet, she didn't think it would be appropriate to ask Wellard or anyone else to call her by her first name. Supposedly, she was just seeing them for the first time. In fact, Wellard would probably fall over with shock if she called him Henry.

"Boy, it's about time. I'm starving!" exclaimed Amy under her breath. Cat glanced ahead at Wellard to see if he had heard her. If he had, he made no sign of it. Turning to her friend, she frowned disapprovingly.

"Must you _always_ think of your stomach, Amy?" she whispered to her. Cat, for one, thought it best to try and blend into the time period as much as possible. With her often loud and random exclamations, Amy was tragically failing.

"Not _always_. Just when I'm _really_ hungry- like now!" Amy protested while attempting to replace her dark hair in a large knot on top of her head.

Lottie glanced back at her friends and rolled her eyes. They were always like that- fiercely loyal, yet quarrelsome. She looked back at Wellard, who now stood next to the door of the Captain's cabin, amused at the sight of the two now animatedly bickering with each other.

"Are they like this often?" he asked Lottie curiously.

"I'm afraid so- they're just like sisters," she grimaced and Wellard chuckled. Returning to his serious self, he cleared his throat, causing Cat and Amy to turn around, who flushed with embarrassment.

Wellard, graciously, said nothing, but knocked on the Captain's door. To the sound of a "Come in!", he opened the door, allowing the three passengers to step inside.

Much to the disappointment of Lottie, Wellard was not permitted to stay. No other officers were invited, it appeared it would be a private meal. After a overly warm welcome from the Captain, Amy, Cat and Lottie were seated and told to eat. All three tried to be as polite as possible as they were eating, but found it quite difficult, as they were all ravenous.

After they had all eaten their fill, the Captain wiped his mouth and said to them, "Now tell me, how did three young ladies such as yourselves wind up in the middle of the English Channel?" There was a hint of flirtation among his words, though they tried their best to ignore it.

The three glanced at each other and hesitated. They had all agreed on a false story to tell whoever rescued them, however wrong it felt to lie and however cliché it sounded. It was too dangerous to tell the truth- where they had _really_ come from. Besides, as Amy remembered it, Captain Sawyer was prone to random fits of insanity and telling him an unbelievable tale would probably not help their situation any.

"Well," started Lottie, deciding to be the brave one, "We are originally from America." At this statement, the Captain bristled a little. This was not a good sign.

"_Guess they're still not over the fact that we kicked their butts back in 1781,"_ Amy thought, a little worried. It was her sincere hope that the Captain did not hold a prejudice against them simply because they were Americans. She had had enough of _that_ on the Indomptable.

"But our families all have roots in either Britain or Ireland. And we actually favor the British," piped up Amy quickly, not wanting to start a reenactment of the Revolutionary War on the Renown. Actually, that statement was only partly true, seeing as her own ancestors were predominantly from Spain. However, she thought it unwise to mention this to the Captain. Currently, the British were enemies with the Spanish.

"Hmm. I see," was all the Captain said. Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he motioned for them to continue with their story.

"Our families had decided to travel back to England where our ancestors had lived. On our way to England, there was a huge storm. It swallowed our whole ship; any survivors were scattered. Amy found that jolly boat, miraculously still intact, and eventually found Cat and myself- floating on the remaining pieces of our ship," Lottie continued.

It felt odd telling Sawyer this. Occasionally, he would nod in understanding, as if this was a perfectly reasonable story. But it wasn't, not really. After all the times Lottie had repeated the story to herself, it had slowly become more and more real. "I'm sure there were no other survivors but us three. We were the only ones." That much was, in a way, true. As far as she knew, she would never see anyone from her time ever again, unless some unnatural force of nature brought them back to their time. Swallowing, she finished, "So finally, after drifting for a few days, your ship found us."

The Captain nodded. "Well, in a few days the Renown will be docking in Plymouth. There, under the usual circumstances, I would reunite you with whatever relations you have. However, it appears that your circumstances are a bit- different. I see it is better for you to be returned to America. I will be able to do this personally, after our voyage."

Lottie sighed with relief. The longer they could stay on the shelter of the Renown, the better. Who knew what lay in wait for them in England, or America even? At least this ship seemed somewhat familiar, even if it was a completely different world.

"As for sleeping arrangements," the Captain carried on, "It appears the only readily available space is a section of the Midshipmen's Berth. It will be accommodated, I assure you."

Amy perked up at the idea of sleeping in the Midshipmen's Berth. Smirking, she caught Lottie's eye and an eyebrow suggestively. Maybe things would get interesting. Lottie just rolled her eyes. Amy was always the first one to think of anything in, well, _that_ way.

"Thank you ever so much, Captain Sawyer, sir," said Cat, hoping the Captain did not notice the looks exchanged between Amy and Lottie. "We are forever in your debt." Sadly, thought Cat, being in debt to Captain Sawyer wasn't really a good thing.

**Tah-dah! Done with the first chapter. If you would be so kind as to review, you are eligible for a place on my awesome list. ;) Be encouraging, be critical, be nice, be mean; I want to know if this is a complete waste of time, total genius, average, etc. Thanks!**


	3. I Don't Think We're in 2011 Anymore

**Onto the second chapter...  
**

_Chapter 2: I Don't Think We're In 2011 Anymore_

Lottie was the first to wake the next morning. The element of a good night's sleep had worked wonders. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked around at her 'sleeping quarters'. Three hammocks near the end of the Middy's Berth had been enclosed by a thick piece of extra canvas to give the three some privacy;. Everything was much cleaner and friendlier than the accommodations on the _Indomptable_. She glanced over at her friends- still sound asleep, their faces tranquil.

Softly, as to not wake her companions, she crept from her warm sanctuary to her bundle of scarce belongings. It was incredible that they had managed to bring anything at all from their own time. The purses that Cat and Lottie had on them had managed to survive the journey. Lottie was able to salvage a few hair-ties, a now useless mascara wand, and a shawl her mother had made her take, because the caring woman was sure it would "get chilly later on". Cat's sketchpad and pencil had survived the trip, she had taken them so she could draw some of the dancing, twirling figures.

Yawning, she pulled her battered dress over her head and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Previously to being swept off their feet by a fiercely strange force into the world of Horatio Hornblower, the girls had been attending a Revolutionary War Ball. The dresses they had been wearing seemed to fit the time period in which they were now living, if not a bit out-of-style. New fashions were coming into Europe, but for now, the girls would be able to blend in. The three could only imagine trying to explain their modern day clothing. The 'blue jean' material had not yet come into existence. Everyone would have been appalled at the sight of them!

As for pajamas, Lottie slept in her 'under dress', as Amy called it. It was a lighter second dress that went under her main dress. Lottie was unsure of what its proper term was, and doubted she would discover its true name, unless she wanted to risk embarrassment.

Her dress was quite worn after all it had endured for the last month. Its light blue tone could still be considered pretty, but faded if nothing else. It had never been intended for everyday use. The Captain had promised to buy them all a new set of clothes- a plain dress for everyday use and a formal dress, for dinners and such, as the Captain said- once they reached Plymouth. Amy, for one, couldn't wait for a chance to go shopping, even if it did take place in the 1800's.

Lottie ran Cat's wooden comb through her tangled blond hair, streaked brightly due to the excessive amount of sunlight she had been exposed to. Tying it with a ribbon and slipping on her shoes, she wondered what time it was. Her internal clock said that it must be around eight, but with the odd workings of the naval bell system, she couldn't be sure.

Automatically, she looked at her wrist for her watch, which of course, was absent. She had lost it in the process of escaping from the mad men aboard the Indomptable. Pushing the curtain back, she found the other hammocks to be empty, as well as the tables at which the midshipmen ate.

Walking up on deck, she wasn't surprised to see the crew hustling and bustling about their duties. Work never seemed to be done on a ship. Her back felt particularly sore this morning, as she had slept on it all night.

Behind her, the young freckle-faced midshipman contemplated the idea of talking to this bizarre beauty he found himself studying. He knew the crew felt strange, there being women on board. But surely Miss O'Hara felt just as strange, surrounded by so many men. And she had smiled at him so beautifully yesterday.

Oh, what was the worst that could happen?

He walked up to her, and was going to say "good morning". He really was. After all, two words, he thought, couldn't be so hard. But as he opened his mouth to speak, the ship suddenly tipped sharply, as it often did at the most unexpected times. Wellard, having spent several years at sea, had adapted to the rough and random rising and falling. Lottie, on the other hand, had appeared to not have gotten used to this yet. She would have fallen flat on her face, had it not been for Wellard who swiftly caught her and brought her back onto her feet.

"Thank you," she exclaimed gratefully, a bit surprised at her own unsteadiness. Her hands were shaking slightly as she clasped them together. Quickly she tried to turn her fall to more of a humorous light. "To think of the months I've spent at sea, yet I still fall over like a flower every time the ship moves."

Wellard, at this moment, realized that he still held a supporting hand gently to her back. Quickly, he pulled it away. "It takes a while to gain your 'sea legs'," he told her reassuringly. From what he had gathered from the cook, who had told the carpenter, who had told the coxswain, who had told a midshipman, all three of them had been through a horrible disaster. Why else would they be out in the middle of the ocean? It was perfectly excusable to be a little wobbly after sitting scrunched down in a rowboat for several days.

"Yet," she told him, fully aware that his hand had been on her back longer than necessary and having found it pleasant, "Even with all its twists and turns, II love the sea. It holds quite a set of characters- the villain, the hero, the innocent and the victim."

Wellard's lips curled into a small smile. He didn't often smile, though already he had smiled more in the last day than he had in the last several months. There was just something about her, a radiance that made him want to look at her again and again.

The two walked to the rail of the ship and looked out across the vast ocean. "We'll be in port soon," he told her, in an attempt to make conversation. He, for one, was glad of it. It wasn't that he minded life at sea so much, lonely as it was, it was more that Captain Sawyer always seemed to have it out for him. No matter what he did, it was always something horribly offensive to Captain. With luck, he could escape the Captain's overbearing presence for an afternoon, or several days at best.

Lottie wrapped her shawl more tightly around her. She felt terribly weak these days, the slightest breeze seemed to chill her. But she was forcing herself to be positive; she knew it her way of surviving. "What is it like in Plymouth?" she asked him. Sure, she had seen it in movies before, but she had never actually been to England. Being here brought her a sense of curiosity and adventure.

Wellard shrugged, unsure of how to describe the port without sounding extremely dull. "It's a typical ship port- though not as big as Portsmouth." This information was not a helpful description to Lottie, as she had never seen Portsmouth in 1801.

"As long as it has a dress shop as big as New York's, we'll be set," commented Amy, who had strolled up, unnoticed, behind the two. Wellard chuckled at Amy's entrance into the conversation. Lottie sighed. Thus ended the private moment of conversation between her and Wellard. "Morning, Lottie, Mr. Wellard. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Quite," said Lottie, staring at the very bright, very blue sky above her.

Not much more was said before Wellard was summoned by Mr. Kennedy. Tipping his hat to the two- glancing back again at Lottie- he strode off to attend to his duties elsewhere.

"Bonding with the middies now are we?" Amy asked Lottie, once Wellard had gotten some distance away. Lottie let out a small 'ha' of mock laughter.

"No thanks to you, Ames," she told her teasingly.

"I guess you're right, Lottie," Amy said, "I'm really am one for ruining moments, sorry. But just remember- if he hurts you, I'll make him cry."

Lottie laughed, though she knew Amy was only half-joking. "I've only just met him. Give a girl a break!"

After Cat had awoken from her blissful and much needed slumber, she had journeyed to lean against the railing of the ship, staring out at the endless blue flowing by. There was so much _water_. Unlike Lottie, she had never particularly liked the ocean. Sure, it was fine to look at or splash in along the shore, but it was deep and filled with the unknown. Besides, she'd always had a subconscious fear of falling in.

Cat didn't like thinking about the ocean, but she seemed to be doing a lot of thinking today; she had been on her own for most of the day. Not 'alone' as in not a soul around- there were always miscellaneous sailors darting about- but 'alone' as in no one to talk to. Lottie had disappeared, once again, probably happily chatting with Wellard. Amy, on the other hand- well, the less said about that the better. Amy was a great friend, and fiercely faithful to Cat and Lottie. But whenever there was a guy with any physical merit around, she would spend hours simply flirting with him.

Even now, as Cat looked across the deck, she could see Amy tossing her hair in the breeze and talking animatedly with a sailor wearing a sloppy grin on his face. She had no idea who _he_ was. Actually, Cat hadn't in truth learned very many peoples' names. The only names she really knew where the ones she had learned from the tv series.

Whilst thinking about names, she recalled something that had been bothering her. She wished 'Mr. Kennedy' would call her 'Cat'- instead of 'Miss Hampton' or 'Catherine'. And she wished she didn't have to call him by his last name. It felt strange to call him 'Mr. Kennedy'. It just didn't fit him. Of course, she couldn't just go up and say, "Hey there, Archie!". No, that would also be a bit strange. Technically speaking, she only knew his last name anyways.

"I'll just ask him," she decided aloud. Saying that to herself made it seem doable. She would ask Archie to call her Cat- when opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, what sounded good in her head didn't always work out so great in reality.

Stepping away from the side of the ship, she headed below deck, bored with her surroundings. The momentary interest the crew had in them had appeared to dwindle overnight, and she was able to do as she pleased without arousing too many glances. Perhaps Lottie was in the Midshipmen's Berth. Once she was down the stairs, however, she noticed Archie making his way towards her in the dim light. _"Oh no. I didn't mean for opportunity to present itself right now_! _I haven't thought of what to say." _As he neared, Cat arranged her face in a pleasant smile that thankfully, came naturally.

"Miss Hampton, there you are! Miss O'Hara is looking for you," he said casually, pointing in the direction he had some from. Cat assumed he meant the Midshipmen's Berth. Nodding her thanks, she started to walk around him.

As she began to pass him, she stopped- annoyed with herself. She should just ask him now, before it was too late. _"I am such a chicken."_

"Is there a problem, Miss?" Archie asked.

Turning around and taking a deep breath, she told him, "You- you could call me by my first name, Cat, if you wanted to, instead of Miss Hampton. It's a nickname, but I think if anyone called me Catherine, I'd be confused as to who they were talking to." Miraculously, she managed to keep the smile on her face, despite her nervousness.

Archie paused, looking thoughtful. He knew exactly what his answer was. Of course he wanted to call her Cat, for more reasons than one. But would she really allow him after only such a short time knowing her? Her face, earnest and nervous, assured him she would. "I would like that, but only if you could call me Archie- also a nickname," he said, smiling.

"Of course," she answered, unable to hide the eagerness in her voice. He tipped his hat to her politely, making Cat blush.

"I'll be seeing you around- Cat," he added as an afterthought, as if to try her name out. Cat watched as he left, only leaving herself when he was out of sight. She had such a sense of happiness inside, so much that she wasn't even annoyed- not considerably, that is- when she found out that all Lottie wanted to know was if Cat could remember who sung the song, "Baby".

That evening, the bright and sunny day vanished and was replaced by a terrifying and thundering storm. Lottie had hidden away from sight in a corner on the top deck. Both Cat and Amy had tried to convince her to stay with them below, in the Middy's Berth. However, she found it much easier for her to face the storm this way, right before her in all its terrifying splendor, than below deck rocking back and forth, nauseous. Looking up, Lottie saw that the men of Hornblower's division had been called up to shorten sail. _"During a storm- when the ropes are covered soaked,"_ thought Lottie worriedly as she watched the squirming men climbing up the slick, wet ropes.

By now, the Captain had made his appearance on deck and was shouting at Hornblower and his men, saying that they would be punished for Horatio's mistake of not informing him _before_ shortening sail. If he had known female eyes were watching him, perhaps Sawyer would have been more courteous, as to not make ill of his reputation. Lottie now stood up from her hiding place, praying that what she knew would happen _wouldn't_ happen.

Wellard had made the astounding discovery that Lottie, a _woman_ and passenger, was still on deck. Despite the raging storm, and his orders to remain where he was, he turned to bring her back below. Never would he forgive himself if something happened to her- and he had a feeling that the Captain wouldn't be so keen on forgiving him either. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she tore her eyes from the sails, where men now struggled to finish their work.

"Miss O'Hara, you need to get below," he told her, having to shout so his voice could be heard over the raging sea. Above them, a young sailor whose name Lottie would never know let out a yell as he slipped from the wet yardarm.

Wellard tried again. After all, she didn't need to see this; she _really_ didn't. "Please Miss," he began again, but was cut off with a terrible scream as the lad fell fast onto the deck. His head hit the sodden wood with a sound Lottie would never forget. She couldn't help but look stupidly on, shocked. Movies didn't do this justice. Never had she felt so utterly horrified. Yet, she felt she couldn't look away.

Moments passed, or maybe hours, before Wellard finally managed to turn her away. He hated the fact that she had seen that, heard that. Guiding her back down to the second deck, he heard the Captain roar, "Get that man off my quarter deck, Mr. Hornblower!" He shuddered and silently led Lottie to the Midshipmen's Berth, one steadying hand on her shoulder the whole time.

Upon entering the Berth, Lottie turned to face him. Her eyes were filled with vast confusion. How innocent she must be in her knowledge of life aboard ship. Slowly, she was realizing what the Captain was like beneath his false smile and misguiding friendly attitude. There was no need for words. She spoke with her eyes questions that would have to go unanswered.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," was all Wellard could think to say. Lottie just nodded, somewhat dazed. It was Wellard's sincere hope that she was able to forget about the sailor. "Goodnight," he added hesitantly, and then turned and began to walk away.

"Wellard," she called out softly. He turned back around and looked at her. Lottie gave him a gentle smile, causing Wellard's heart to thump rapidly against his chest. "Thank you," she said. Giving her a small smile back, he tipped his hat to her and departed.

**And now it's time for that little annoying note the author always leaves at the end of a chapter telling you readers to review! I don't mean to be a nag; just review, please. :)**


	4. A Shopping Spree in Plymouth

**It's a longer one this time, and one of my more humorous chapters. Hope you like it. REVIEW! Thank you. :) **

_Chapter 3: A Shopping Spree in Plymouth_

"I wish they would just park the boat already," said Amy loudly as the girls looked out across the railing to the nearing shore of Plymouth. Almost a week had passed since the three had been miraculously rescued. By now, Amy was getting bored with her surroundings.

Cat laughed at her friend's choice of words. "Amy, I think you mean _weighing anchor_," she corrected, rolling her eyes. "According to Archie-

"Whoa! Did you just call a certain someone _Archie_?" Amy gave Cat an exaggerated look of shock. "You guys are on the first-name level now?" A deep blush spread across Cat's face and she quickly opened her mouth to protest.

"_There they go again."_ Lottie turned to look over at Wellard. Standing a few feet away from them, he was overseeing the men load the jolly boats. They exchanged a knowing smile, for now Cat and Amy were- once again- bickering vigorously about who should be minding their own business, and what that business was. Grimacing, Lottie mouthed the words "help me". Wellard shook his head, amused, and turned back to the men.

The Captain undoubtedly wanted to try to make his officers leave time on shore as unpleasant as possible. He had ordered Kennedy, Hornblower and Wellard to escort the 'ladies', as he called them, to buy them 'proper clothing' and anything else they may need for the voyage. "Money is no object," he had told the girls with a superior wave of his hand, much to Amy's delight.

The officers had also been instructed to take the ladies along wherever they went, whether to visit loved ones, shop for themselves or show them the sights. This would make the girls as much of a burden as possible. Though the Captain had not added an 'or else' to the end of his speech, he had made it clear that he would be informed if his orders were not obeyed.

Secretly, all three gentlemen were not the least bit unhappy with the fact that they would be able to spend the entire afternoon with three women, three very handsome women- _with_ the Captain's consent! A sailor couldn't have better luck, really. Now if only they could convince the women to go somewhere more manly, like a tavern or something, that would make the day unbeatable.

By the time the jolly boats had reached the shore, Amy was almost jumping up and down with anticipation. "Hey!" she told one of the taller midshipmen, named Johnson, who had given her a strange look. "I get new clothes today. It's _exciting_!" The midshipman had nodded, as if he understood, but really, he could not comprehend the excitement _garments_ was giving her.

When the threesome had touched the shore, it occurred to Lottie that this was the first time she had been on land in several months, and the last time she would touch land for quite some time. When she told Amy and Cat this, Amy then shouted, "I shall kiss the ground!"

"Way to make a scene, Amy," Cat said sarcastically, and then grabbing her friend's arm hurriedly, "Please, don't."

Their escorts chuckled. Horatio cleared his throat, and once he had the attention of the three he spoke, "Now Misses, would you kindly direct us as to which part of Plymouth you would like to see first?" All three answered at once,

"Well, we could-

"That shop looks-

"I want to-

"That way!" all three said simultaneously, pointing in different directions.

Kennedy sighed. "Well, let's all go separate ways and then meet back at the dress shop in about a half an hour. Do you know of it gentlemen? I think it's called Dither's Dress or something of the sort." Both Wellard and Horatio nodded.

"Archie," began Horatio warningly. He was always the one to voice concerns and worries, often ruining Archie's schemes. Amy sighed. Horatio was often one to be cautious.

"Come on, Horatio, where's your sense of fun? Besides,"Archie lowered his voice so that only his companions could hear, "I think we'll evade the Captain's spies a little better if we divide our persons."

Amy nodded in agreement. "Amen! Let's go. Come on, Horatio, I want to go check out that bakery- I can smell it from here!" She then proceeded to drag Horatio by the arm off to a nearby shop, where an aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air.

Archie and Wellard looked at each other, and then at the two girls they had to divide between themselves. "Well," said Archie, deciding to be the bold one, "I'll take Miss Hampton if you don't mind, Mr. Wellard," Lottie could have swore that a mischievous smile passed between Archie and Cat as they both walked away, arm in arm- as was the fashion.

"I guess your stuck with me, sorry," she told Wellard playfully as the two began to walk away from the docks. The street was filled with outdoor market carts and people walking to and fro, mingling with friends and carrying baskets filled with goods they had bartered for.

"Don't be sorry, Miss O'Hara," Wellard said sincerely. He really could not have had better luck. The two ducked under a canopy of the cart that smelled of baked bread.

Lottie frowned. There it was again- the overrated "Miss" that she loathed. It was now or never. "I wish you wouldn't call me that," she said. Wellard frowned.

"Call you what?"

"_Miss O'Hara_. It makes me feel old, well, older than I want to be. I guess I'm just not used to all the formality around here. I grew up in a very casual city. No one ever called me Miss O'Hara before."

Wellard gave her a dubious look. "No one?"

"Well, one boy I knew did. My friends and I all thought him to be quite, well, _odd_. I suppose my upbringing has tainted my knowledge of how to behave in society," she said with an ironic smile.

"Perhaps, then again, perhaps not," he replied vaguely, taking hold of Lottie's arm so she wouldn't be lost amongst the busy crowd. "I think formality can be bloody exasperating sometimes, especially it it is not deserved." Lottie thought of Captain Sawyer, and couldn't help but wonder if he was who Wellard was thinking of as well.

"My Christian name is Charlotte," she offered brightly, "But everyone calls me Lottie. It's real easy to say you know. It wouldn't be that hard to call me Lottie, would it? Just two little syllables," she teased, arousing a smile from Wellard.

_Lottie._ He liked that name. It would be easy to call her by it. However, he knew that he hadn't the proper right to call her by her first name. After all, he had only met her a week ago. Yet he wanted to so terribly! No longer could he restrain himself, he told her, "Henry. That's my Christian name."

"Can I call you Henry?"

"Yes," he answered, liking the way she said his name. He hadn't heard anyone, much less a female, call him by his first name in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Hearing it spoken by such a feminine figure brought back memories of distant, yet happier times- before the navy, before his life at sea, and before the ever-present Captain Sawyer.

"And you'll call me Lottie?"

He hesitated, and at that moment an elderly man called out to them from his cart, saying, or rather, shouting, "Buy a flower for your sweetheart, sir? Just picked 'em this morning."

"Oh," sighed Lottie dreamily at the numerous bouquets spread along the cart. "They are pretty, aren't they, _Henry_?" She tried to ignore the fact that she was now blushing slightly since the cart owner had perceived her as "Wellard's sweetheart".

"_Yes, they are,"_ Wellard thought. One would only enhance her beauty. Without a second thought, he placed a few coins in the man's outstretched palm and asked Lottie, "Which one would you like?"

She gasped slightly. "You didn't have to do that!" Though she was selfishly glad she would be able to wear a sweet-smelling flower for the day, she didn't want it to be at the expense of someone else- especially Wellard.

"Go on, pick one. It'll make day more enjoyable for the both of us," he told her. He wanted to do this for her; to forget about the Renown for a few hours and enjoy his afternoon.

Lottie gingerly picked up a yellow Daffodil and placed it behind her ear. "I have always been fond of Daffodils," she told Wellard seriously, "They remind of joyous times."

Meanwhile, Cat and Archie were walking farther down the street, arm in arm. Ragged as her dress and hair was, Cat felt like royalty; strolling down the street with the best looking man in England on her arm. _"Well, according to me, anyway," _she thought and stifled a grin at the thought of Lottie, who was sure to disagree with her.

"Where were you planning on going?" Archie's voice rang out, startling her from her thoughts.

"I'm not sure. All I really need is new clothes," she said, shrugging. That wasn't exactly true. She was sure if she thought about it, she could think of somewhere to go. After all, this was the first time she'd been on land in a while, and the first time she had ever seen Plymouth besides. At the moment she was very content, just walking in companionable silence.

"Well, we have a while until we have to head towards the dress shop," Archie said, smiling as he looked down at his companion. "I'm sure you could think of _something _you want to see." He almost repeated what she had been thinking herself.

No sooner had he spoken, Cat slowed to a stop, and let her hand slide from his arm. He stopped a pace ahead of her and turned back towards her, frowning. It was quite ironic- when her hand left his arm, it felt heavier, not lighter.

Having had seen something that caught her eye, Cat began sprinting to an empty carriage tethered at the curb. Empty, that was, except for a tired looking horse laced in the harness. Archie shook his head slightly and strode after her. In two long strides, he reached her side. He started to call to her a warning, "Be careful!" but stopped.

By now she was cradling the carriage horse's heavy head in her hands, fondling his ears and rubbing his nose beneath the leather band. The horse, who had seemed wary when she had first reached him, now let out a content exhale and let his head sink into her gentle touch. It was a beautiful thing, seeing how Cat handled horses.

Noticing Archie behind her, Cat looked up at him, the sun catching in her blue eyes and making them sparkle. "I just couldn't resist this guy." She smiled in a way that made Archie's heart seem to turn over. In attempt to end the unusual silence he tentatively gave the horse's neck a pat, his hand at arms length.

Cat tried to muffle the amusement in her voice. "He's not going got hurt you, you know." Archie had the grace to look contrite. Before he could respond, the driver of the buggy exited one of the shops and, with a nod to Archie and Cat, swung aboard and took the long reins.

Reluctantly, Cat said goodbye to the carriage horse, giving him a kiss on his velvety nose. She could have stayed there all day- it seemed like it had been forever since she had been around horses. _"Not that this is so bad, though,"_ she thought as Archie placed a hand on her shoulder while she squeezed between two carts in their path.

Once they passed the obstacles, Cat found herself standing in front of a shop that sold jewelry. It was a lonely, nearly deserted shop- something that perked Cat's interest. "May we go in?" she asked, turning to Archie excitedly.

He nodded compliantly. "I don't see why not."

Cat quickly led the way through the heavy, peeling door. Inside, it was a cool temperature- a nice change compared to the summer heat outside. Patches of sunlight streamed through tall, skinny windows, making displayed necklaces, rings, and bracelets shimmer and dance with light.

Cat slowly threaded her way through rows, admiring each piece in turn. On the last table, she saw one she particularly liked. Back where she came from, it would be called a 'choker'. It was made of one strand of translucent ribbon and adorned with intricate, aged silver, now blackened. In the very center, a clear cut amber colored stone gleamed. "It's gorgeous," she breathed as she held it up to her neck.

Peering around for Archie, she saw him was talking to the shop owner. _"That's odd," _she thought, frowning. He had been behind her for the whole time- as far as she knew. _"I guess I'm boring him."_ She admired the striking necklace she held for another moment, then set it down. As she turned around, she bumped into Archie, who was now standing behind her once again. "Oh! We can go now, if you like."

"You go on outside. I'll be right there."

Cat considered asking what he was doing; after all, hadn't he just been uninterested? After looking at his face, she decided against it. Giving the choker one last admiring glance, she stepped back out onto the street, blinking in the bright sunlight.

A moment later, Archie stepped out beside her carrying a tiny white package. Cat, who had been completely mystified, now had a sneaking suspicion of what he was doing- or had done. Just to make sure, she asked slowly, "What is that?" He smiled mysteriously and unwrapped the paper very carefully. Lying amidst the wrapping was the delicate choker she had admired so much.

Cat caught her breath. "You- you didn't-" She stopped as he laid it in her hands.

"You wanted it, did you not?"

"Well, well- yes, but-" Curse her tongue! Cat couldn't seem to make a coherent sentence. Finally, after several more stutters she was able to protest, "You didn't have to." She looked up at him. His face was serious, but his light blue eyes sparkled with a smile, and maybe a hint of mischief.

"No, I didn't," he replied simply. Both of them understood his unspoken sentence, _What about it? _or, as the modern side of Cat could interpret, _You got a problem with that?_ Cat wrapped it back in the paper and clutched it in her hands.

"I couldn't put it on now- not while I'm wearing this," she said, taking a fistful of the dirty dress she was wearing. Nodding knowingly, Archie politely refrained from making a comment. Cat quickly started walking to try and cover up her tumult of feelings and thoughts.

Archie caught up with her and said in a low voice, "I think you look beautiful, even in that dress." Cat almost fell over.

"_What did he say?" _she thought, her heart leaping into her throat. She looked up at him with the word "really?" written all over her face. He just smiled and offered his arm. Cat took it in, laying her hand softly down over his arm in pleasantly stunned silence.

After thanking the flower cart owner, the twosome- consisting of Lottie and Wellard- were quickly swept back onto the busy street. The street, thankfully, did not have near as many people as before and both were able to move along fairly quickly. For some reason, Wellard kept feeling the strange sensation that he was being watched. Glancing behind him, he caught sight of the Gunner Hobbs mingling on a street corner. Wellard did not remember the Captain granting _him_ leave. Suddenly, it occurred to him that Hobbs must have been following them this entire time, watching them, making sure the Captain's orders were obeyed. That was what Kennedy had meant by the "Captain's spies". He let out a groan of frustration. Just when things had been going so well, something had to ruin it.

"What troubles you?" asked Lottie, concerned. Upon realizing that he was no longer walking by her side, she had turned around to face him.

"Hobbs," he said quietly, glancing furtively back at their follower, who was now looking very interested in a cart full of cabbages. Lottie, having caught sight of the lurking gunner, smirked. Wellard wasn't sure what she was thinking.

"Let's give him a run for his money, shall we?" she asked, laughing mysteriously.

Wellard didn't know what 'a run for his money' was. He had noticed that about this girl, as well as her companions. Sometimes the phrases she or the others would remark or exclaim sounded quite, well, _strange_.

Just yesterday, the dark-haired girl- Amy, it must have been- had been arguing with Lottie about the pronunciation of an apparently well known female singer in America. Amy had claimed the singer's name was pronounced "cas-caw-da", yet Lottie had insisted it was pronounced "cas-cay-da". In her frustration, Lottie had exclaimed an exasperated, "Dude!"

Wellard had no idea what "dude" meant- it did not seem like a foreign language, but rather something that had been conceived by English-speaking people, namely Americans. Both Cat and Amy seemed to understand the meaning behind this phrase. Perhaps it was just something all women did. Despite Lottie's odd limericks, Wellard found himself intrigued by this girl.

Lottie looked up at Wellard, her eyes gleaming with mischief. It suddenly dawned on Wellard what she was thinking. He returned her smile. After looking back to make sure Hobbs was looking the other way, the two began to run down the street as fast as they were able to go. Lottie cursed under breath, realizing just how hard it was to run in a dress.

Wellard turned into an alley. He had run through these alleys many times growing up; they were quite familiar to him. The alley curved along with the buildings and went back quite a ways, so he pulled Lottie around a corner where they were hidden from the view of the street. There, they both tried to catch their breath. Their deep exhales echoed off the damp walls.

"Well," said Lottie, in between breaths, "I suppose he won't find us in a hurry."

Wellard nodded and gave a breathy laugh. Perhaps this was what Lottie had meant by a 'run for his money'. "No, I don't suppose he will," he told her, smiling. Lottie shook her head with silent laughter, sending the fragile flower that had managed to stay in her hair to fall from behind her ear and onto the ground.

"Oh, snap," was all she said, giving Wellard another example of her strange American colloquialisms. This was simply the way that 21st-century Americans talked, but Lottie would never, ever tell him that. She didn't want to cause him to have a early-aged heart attack. Sighing, Lottie began to bend to the ground to retrieve her fallen flower.

"No, wait," Wellard told her, and reached to pick up the flower carefully. She tipped her head to the side, an innocently allowing him to slide the flower back in place behind her ear. He slowly let his arms fall back at his side. "There, Lottie." Her name rolled of his tongue easily. Looking upon her pretty and coquettish smiling face, he suddenly felt a strong urge to do something he thought was quite contradictory to his nature and circumstance- kiss her.

It was then that Lottie realized just how little space there was between the two of them. Was it just her, or was Wellard slowly leaning his face closer towards her? It seemed as if it was by an involuntary force that her face leaned closer as well. Was this going to be her first kiss? It certainly appeared so. Everything moved as if it was in slow motion. _Her eyes closed._

He couldn't believe he was doing this. Only a week had passed since he had first been introduced to Lottie, yet already he found himself drawing closer and closer to her. It was a feeling he had never felt about anyone before. When he saw her, he felt his heart beat faster and his face grow warm. When she smiled at him, he felt an indescribable feeling of joy swell up inside him. Was this what some referred to as 'love at first sight'? _His eyes closed._

Several chickens protested loudly as someone thundered down the alleyway. Wellard and Lottie jumped away from each other, startled. She looked at him, wide-eyed. "_Hobbs_," she mouthed. Wellard snuck a look around the corner, where sure enough, he spotted the angry gunner vividly cursing the roaming chickens in his path.

Hastily, the two sprinted down the remaining branch of the alleyway, dodging barrels and turning down random corners. However, Wellard seemed to know where they were going. Lottie wondered if he had ever been here before.

Unbeknownst to Lottie and Wellard, Cat and Archie were strolling down the street ahead of them, talking and laughing unaware of the rest of the world. At the sound of clattering footsteps, Cat was pulled backwards just in time to avoid being trampled by who other than Lottie and Wellard.

"Lottie!" she yelped, upon recognizing her friend.

At the same time, Archie exclaimed a surprised, "Wellard?"

Lottie ungracefully bumped into Wellard, who had stopped at the sound of his name. "Sorry," she muttered and peered over his shoulder- which wasn't easy to do, seeing as he was at least a head taller than herself. Both she and Wellard had flushed faces and were breathing quite heavily. Cat noticed that Lottie's face was particularly red. Perhaps she was blushing? That was something she'd have to ask her later.

"Well, what have you two been up to?" asked Archie mischievously. Cat poked him pointedly. She knew what _he_ was thinking. Archie gave her a pouting look.

Wellard and Lottie, through jumbled and breathless speech, told them that Hobbs had, in fact, been spying on them for Captain Sawyer. "Come on," Wellard told them "Lest Hobbs come down the alley and find us here." The foursome then exited the alleyway to find themselves amidst yet another busy street.

"There," Archie said to all of them, pointing ahead of them at a shop on the corner. "That's the dress shop." Lottie looked to where he was pointing. The worn wooden sign that read a faded 'Dither's Dress' swayed slightly in the breeze. Two dresses- pale green and blue, for the season of course- were displayed on mannequins in the side window.

As the four came around to the front of the store, a blurry figure rushed itself at Lottie and Cat, flinging its arms around her. "Amy," Cat and Lottie whispered together, straining against the massive hug they were now encircled by. "Can't. Breathe."

"Where were you people?" shouted Amy demandingly to her now disheveled friends. Lottie couldn't help but smile at the dramatic entrance of her concerned friend.

"You four were gone a _long_ time," followed up Horatio, who had now finally managed to catch up to Amy after she had sprinted away from him at the sight of her missing comrades. He now cocked his head slightly. "Where _did_ you ever disappear to?"

Lottie could have sworn a faint pink tinge came upon Wellard's face at Horatio's suggestive tone. Sighing, she attempted to re-straighten her dress that had been rumpled considerably by Amy. _"If only they knew what had happened in the alley,"_ she thought, smiling secretively.

At that moment, a angry and exasperated Hobbs appeared from the alleyway. When he laid eyes on the couple he had been chasing for the last ten minutes, his eyes went wide with disbelief. Lottie waved to him, wearing a leering, yet polite, smile on her face. Hobbs just stared at her a moment before shaking his head and stalking off down the street. Lottie looked at Wellard, and the two shared a knowing smile.

Amy had plastered her face to the window. "It's all so beautiful," she breathed. "Can we _please_ go inside now?" she looked up at Horatio with her classic 'puppy eyes' look.

Horatio smiled. "Yes, I think so. Archie, Mr. Wellard?"

The six entered the shop, the men feeling slightly embarrassed that they were now entering a, well, _women's_ shop. It just wasn't the kind of thing men did, especially not officers of His Majesty's Navy!

An older lady greeted them, her face wrinkling warmly. Her face was well worn, but she had a kind expression. "You're my first costumers yet, you are," she said good-naturedly. Then, noticing the three handsomely dressed officers she cackled, "So you dragged these three all the way down here did you?"

Amy gave the woman a proud nod. With a more serious tone, the shop keeper added, "I'll make it worth their while," and winked at the girls. They giggled. "Now sirs please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards two benches near the door.

The shop keeper then pushed the three giggling girls back behind a curtain that closed off a portion of the store. Turning to her customers, the shop keeper told them dramatically, "Now I promise you, I'll make those gentlemen's eyes go wide with delight."

The shop keeper then proceeded to pick out several everyday dresses, as well as under-garments and petticoats, from various boxes and shelves. There wasn't much debate over which dresses to choose, as the choices were few. Amy was the only one daring enough to buy the styled garment designed by the French- the _corset_. It was not long before all three had picked out an entire set of clothing, which they found was much more complex than what they had worn day to day back home. The shop keeper tailored the clothing, letting seams out and pulling seams in until it them perfectly.

"Now onto the fancy dresses!" squealed Amy.

The shop keeper, which the three now knew as Ms. Dither, just chuckled. She then went deep into the shadows of the shop, sorting through a large, dark wardrobe. Finally, she exclaimed a soft "Aha!" and pulled from the wardrobe a lightly aureate dress. It was a color that was hard to describe, the closest being a light reddish gold. She held it out to Lottie, smirking triumphantly. "This one. For you, Miss. You'll knock that little boy off his block, that's what."

Lottie was pretty sure Wellard wouldn't of liked being referred to as 'that little boy', but nevertheless she stepped into a dressing room, blocked off by three connected wooden panels, to try on the garb. As she stepped out, she was surprised at just how wonderfully it fit her. It was simply beautiful. "How do you like it?" she asked tentatively.

Amy gave a low whistle. "You look hot," Amy told her simply. Cat nodded in agreement. Ms. Dither chuckled in amusement.

The next dress that came out of the shop keeper's wardrobe was a dark sapphire dress. This time, Cat was instructed to try it on. Both Amy and Lottie agreed that she looked gorgeous in it.

"Fit for your wedding someday, that one is," said Ms. Dither softly, almost wistfully.

"Then you better keep it, Cat," said Amy. "I, for one, don't plan on getting married." At their incredulous glances she continued, "Well, maybe _some_ day, but for now, I'll enjoy my freedom."

"Well, with that way of thinking," said the shopkeeper, grinning, "You'll have to wear this one." With that, she pulled a scarlet dress from her collection. This was by far the most flirtatious dress they had seen yet. It dipped low- but not _too_ low- in the front, as well as in the back.

Now that all three were clad in fancy, and somewhat flirtatious clothing, the girls were pushed out from behind the curtain to face their companions. Upon their entrance, all three officers stood bolt upright. Each stared, amazed, at the three beauties that they had now the privilege of escorting back onto the ship. Wellard couldn't help but think, _"Are they really going to sail with us?"_ It was astonishing that any woman would be aboard a ship, much less three pretty- no, _lovely_ ones.

The shop keeper nudged Horatio, holding out an insistent palm, and still gaping, he paid her. "Now you all have a fine day," she told them giddily- waving knowingly at the girls.

The six set off down the street, once more in pairs, and before long arrived at the docks. The sun was slowly lowering in the sky, making the horizon a brilliant, picturesque scene. Lottie sighed contently as she waited next to Wellard for the arrival of their jolly boat. It had been a simply wonderful day, complete with surprises and laughter. Yet the image of Captain Sawyer lingered in her mind, making her uneasy. Why had he allowed them to stay on his ship? Surely not just because of his good will towards the helpless. Perhaps it was to fulfill a certain _desire _of his. Lottie shuddered at the thought; she could only imagine what the Captain was thinking, bringing _young women_ onto his ship. Yet there really wasn't another options for them. Stay on the ship, or starve on the streets of England.

"Lottie?" Wellard murmured softly. Something was on her mind, he could tell. Perhaps it was their earlier _incident_ in the alleyway- God forbid. She turned at the sound of her name, and smiled reassuringly at his concerned gaze. "Something troubles you?" he asked quietly.

Sighing, she turned back to look at the sea, now mirroring the colors of the fading sunlight. "I can't help but wonder why the Captain would allow young women like ourselves aboard."

Wellard understood her musings. He himself had wondered at the reasoning behind the Captain's odd decision. Not that he wanted the girls to be left in England to fend for themselves, no, he'd much rather have them stay close, where they could be looked after. However, it seemed almost too perfect, too utopian if they were brought along. The Renown was a 3rd rate warship, not some cruise sloop, and warships only led to blood, death and prize money. One thing was certain- the Captain had _not_ notified the Admiralty of these new passengers. The situation was somewhat odd, and probably quite frightening for a young female.

"Surely it's not just out of the kindness of his heart?" she whispered to Wellard worriedly. "We dared not refuse him, he was rather, well, adamant that we stay with the Renown," she told him confidentially. Even though the girls had not been apposed to staying on the Renown, the Captain had been quite insistent that the three stay aboard- no matter how much their opinion differed. If they hadn't been so agreeable with the idea, Lottie was not so sure the Captain would have _allowed_ them to leave. She lowered her face. Perhaps she had said too much.

Wellard stepped in front of her and gently lifted her face up towards his. "You needn't worry about the Captain, Lottie. We all," he gestured towards Archie and Horatio, "Will see that no one harms you. You have my word." He then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly, as a proper gentleman should.

"Thank you. You are most kind," she told him shyly, smiling gratefully. She could feel the heat beginning to rise onto her checks. His lips had felt so warm against her skin, so delightful. How was it that one touch made her hand burn like fire- yet sent chills down her spine?

"Get a move on, you lovebirds! We're ready to go!" called an impatient Amy from the awaiting jolly boat. Wellard took Lottie's hand and helped her into the boat, the two sharing a smile.

Lottie was years, quite exactly, from her home, and this new adventure seemed exciting and terrifying at the same time. Yet, she found solace in knowing that Wellard, as well as the other lieutenants, would protect them from Sawyer and any other evil that came their way. _"Let come what may,"_ she thought, as she watched the sun sink below the purple horizon.

**Another chapter over and done with. Now, please, don't make me have that awkward moment when I upload a chapter and there are no reviews. :[**


	5. Bush's First Sucky Day

**I will try to keep to my weekly updates, but if I don't make one, forgive me and blame my homework. :) **

_Chapter 4: Bush's First (Sucky) Day_

After several days in port, the Renown was ready to set sail. This time they would travel to the far off San Domingo and then, Kingston, Jamaica. The Captain had gone ashore to retrieve his orders from the Admiralty, supplies for the journey had been loaded onto the ship, and the crew now hustled and bustled about, preparing for the Captain, as well as those who had been on leave, to return to the ship.

All three girls had changed from their 'formal' dresses and packed them away in their trunk, given to them to share for the voyage. All had promised only to wear the dresses for very special occasions. "Like somebody's wedding," Amy called out in a sing song voice. She nudged Lottie teasingly.

"What?" Lottie asked, wearing a perfect look of ignorance on her face. Cat laughed.

"We're not _blind_, you know. You and a certain brown-haired, brown-eyed, freckled _someone_ seem to be getting along _very_ nicely," Cat purred knowingly. Though Lottie had never spoken about her 'relationship', as it were, with Wellard, Cat and Amy both saw how the two reacted to each other's company. It was obvious- there was an unanimous attraction.

"I think he likes you a lot, girl. Likey-like likes," said Amy, winking at Lottie.

Lottie rolled her eyes at her friends' silliness. It wasn't like Wellard was in _love_ with her or anything. She, on the other hand, was in love with him. Always had been, and always would be, it seemed. However, she didn't want it to be a one-sided love relationship, or a Horatio-Mariah relationship either. If Wellard ended up falling in love with her, she wouldn't refuse him. If he didn't, she wouldn't try to pursue him.

"Girls!" she exclaimed, "Why must you subject me to such teasing?"

Unknown to the three, Wellard had walked up quietly behind them, as to not interrupt the girls' conversation. Cat and Amy began to giggle once they noticed him. Impatiently, Lottie cried, "What is it?" Turning around to see Wellard- the topic of their discussion- she blushed. "Oh. Hello, Wellard."

Wellard grinned at the sight of her flushed face. "Good morning, Lottie. I hate to interrupt you ladies, but I would like to inform you that-

"The new second lieutenant has arrived, right?" Amy asked, a knowing grin on her face. Wellard looked at her with surprise. Though the arrival of the second lieutenant had not been what he was going to announce, it had, in fact, occurred. How had she known? All three had been below decks all afternoon, talking quite girlishly about, well, whatever it was that females talked about.

"Yes," he began, "But how-

"I looked through the port hole," Amy lied quickly, upon a firm jab from Cat, reminding her she wasn't supposed to know anything about anything. "Well," Amy said, standing up- for the situation had become slightly awkward. "This I have to see. If you all would excuse me." She walked briskly out of the Berth and up on deck. Sharing confused glances, Cat, Lottie and Wellard followed suit.

When Lottie and Cat caught up to Amy, she whirled around excitedly. "We're finally leaving port!" she said, clasping her friends' hands. "And so our journey begins," she said, a glint of destiny in her eyes. Lottie and Cat smiled at the dramatics shown by their third companion.

"Oh," Amy said, suddenly remembering something. Leaning over, she muttered in Lottie's ear, "So he calls you _Lottie_ now, eh?" Lottie blushed and slapped Amy's arm playfully. Would there ever be an end to their unremitting jibes about Wellard and she?

Meanwhile, Mr. Bush, the second lieutenant, had dutifully arrived. Everyone now rushed to and fro in preparation, for the Captain's jolly boat had been spotted by Wellard. Cat, Amy and Lottie all stood together, hands clasped politely, ready to greet their 'oh so generous' sir.

The Captain strutted across the deck, his eyes gleaming with pride at the sparkling condition of his ship. He spotted his passengers, the women, who stood next to the lined up officers. Amy could have sworn he muttered, "_Ah, ladies_," as he passed them. That was outright disturbing. Then, upon seeing his new lieutenant- Mr. Bush, who had appeared to have not yet noticed the women- the Captain proceeded to lecture Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Buckland about what do to in his absence.

After the Captain had gone to his cabin, Horatio confronted Bush. Lottie sighed, she remembered this from the movie almost word for word. "You don't know Captain Sawyer."

"I know his reputation," answered Bush matter-of-fact-ly. Amy smirked to herself. Reputations could be deceiving.

"As a Captain, or as a man?" asked Archie, his tone light to any passerby, but Lottie knew exactly the meaning he implied behind his words.

"I don't much care your tone, Mr. Kennedy," Bush told Archie haughtily.

At this Amy couldn't help but roll her eyes. How ignorant he was! She tried to stifle her giggle, but unfortunately, failed. At the noise, Bush turned. Upon seeing her, his eyes went wide. He stood silent for a minute, taking in the view of three women, something he had not expected to see for a long time.

Then, taking a guess as to why they had been allowed aboard, he remarked in a bored tone to Horatio, "I did not expect harlots to allowed aboard such a fine ship, Mr. Hornblower." With that, he turned to follow the path of Mr. Buckland, who had promised to show him the wardroom.

Lottie and Cat both covered their mouths at his comment. They exchanged repulsed glances. How had he come to _that_ conclusion? Lottie was willing to let it slide, she had never liked Bush very much and the Captain would soon inform his officers that they were _passengers_, not- well, ladies of the night, so to speak.

Amy, on the other hand, clearly wasn't ready to be so forgiving. "Excuse me?" she hissed, loud enough so that just about everyone on deck could hear her. No one would _ever_ call her that at home, and aboard the Renown hundreds of years in the past was clearly _not_ to be an exception. "Be a man and say that to my face!"

Bush turned back around, wearing a questioning frown. He opened his mouth in an 'o' of surprise. Apparently he didn't expect women to have voices either. "And," she continued, "Just a quick FYI: the Captain has graciously granted us passage to America. I don't think he would like you calling his special guests 'harlots', _sir_."

Cat and Lottie grinned. There was their girl, Amy, coming to their rescue once again. Amy then turned and flounced away, puffing out her chest slightly. Cat and Lottie quickly followed, not wanting to hang around for the stunned lieutenant to recover.

Bush simply stared in amazement. That had been something he thought he would never see- a _woman_ addressing him as such. Impossible! He shook off the thought and cleared his throat, "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me." Bobbing his head at his fellow officers, he turned and went to find the wardroom.

Once Wellard had gone below to quiet the roaring and fighting men, Horatio leaned over and asked Archie quietly, "Tell me, what is 'eff-why-eye'?" Archie grinned at his friend's confusion.

"Oh, that. Cat told me it means 'for your information'. I don't know why these Americans have such odd colloquialisms; it's just as easy to say the whole phrase. That way, everyone knows what your talking about."

Horatio just shook his head in disbelief. These girls were turning out to be more and more confusing, and yet, they were fascinating at the same time. "Come on, I believe Wellard may be in need of a little help down below."

Later that day, the Renown set sail and began drifting slowly out of port. Wellard paced wearily up the stairs to the top deck. It had been a trying day, all in all. Randall had called him a 'little boy', and graciously, Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Hornblower had come to his rescue. He was glad Lottie had not been there to witness it.

It had always been that way on the Renown. No one seemed to like or respect him. Some of the men thought he was a fair officer, but the other midshipmen despised him. He was the youngest and thus, the smallest, as well as the brightest of the five. He had been the only one to pass his exam for lieutenant, and only lingered on the Renown whilst waiting for his letter of acceptance from the Admiralty. Wellard also happened to lack money and friends, something that the others had in abundance.

For all of these facts he couldn't change, he was tantalized daily and mercilessly. 'Runt' was what they often called him. And never had any of the _other_ midshipmen received such attention or friendship from the lieutenants, especially not Misters Hornblower or Kennedy- the popular ones. Wellard was by far the 'favorite' of the much admired lieutenants. It was plain to see, the other midshipmen were jealous of him, and because of it, bullied him incessantly.

Lottie waved happily to Wellard from the rail, and he felt his fatigue lighten a little. How she was able to make him feel better just by a smile he would never know. It was an indescribable something that seemed to simply radiate off of her, a cheeriness that could lighten his burden and warm his heart. She simply _glowed_. He walked over to her, quickening his pace as he neared her.

"Hello, you," she greeted him, shaking her hair down from the bun on top of her head and letting it blow freely in the evening breeze.

He returned her smile, unable to stop himself from musing about how he would like to touch her hair. Surely it was as soft as it looked. "Hello," he answered.

Lottie gave him a sympathetic frown, hearing the tiredness in his voice. "Long day?" she asked, looking up at him humorously. Wellard's reply was a weak shrug. She laughed lightly at his noncommittal gesture. "Tell me," she said, her voice serious as she leaned closer to ask, "Honestly, do I resemble a harlot?"

At first, he didn't know what to say; he had actually hoped she wouldn't speak of the earlier- and somewhat awkward- situation. But seeing the teasing look in her eye, he relaxed.

Wellard found the occasional 'harlots' that came aboard when the Renown was docked repulsive. If he ever became a Captain with a ship of his own, he wasn't sure he would allow _them_ to come aboard, no matter how lustful the crew was something very off-turning about the way that they threw themselves at the crew, desperate. That said, he knew that these were trying times. There were few ways that a woman could make money, He knew what it was like to have nothing in the world, and to be willing to do anything so that he might be able to have enough food for himself.

"No," he said in answer to her question, "You are _far_ too beautiful to resemble a harlot, Lottie."

Lottie's heart leaped in her throat. Wellard thought she was beautiful? "W- Well," she stuttered, unsure of what to say. "Thank you, Henry."

He grinned at the stunned look on her face, which she had attempted to cover by a hesitant smile. She looked so very sweet when she was flustered. "You know," he said, faking a serious look, "I'd defend your honor and ask him to a duel- but alas, he's my senior officer." Lottie knew by 'him', he was referring to Mr. Bush. Wellard laughed at the mock look of hurt on Lottie's face and she shoved him playfully.

"Oh, what am going to do with you?" she sighed, and the two looked into one another's eyes, both holding playful and somewhat flirtatious smiles. Lottie had never noticed how deep and brown his eyes were before. They seemed to penetrate her soul- knowing every secret, every feeling, every memory.

Meanwhile, hidden mostly from view, Cat peered out from her hiding place. She had finally awoken from her late afternoon nap, finding that sleep cured her sea-sickness. Finding that she was itching to draw something- anything- she was now sitting behind a barrel, leaning against the side of the ship. She sighed.

Everyone was busy, having something they were doing or supposed to be doing. Even Amy and Lottie were preoccupied. Across the deck, Amy was vividly arguing with Bush about the roll of women in society. Ever since she had been mistaken for a harlot, she and Bush had become worst enemies. It seemed they were fated to spend the rest of the voyage debating with each other. Lottie, on the opposite side, was chatting with Wellard. There was no way Cat was going to interrupt them. She tried to tell herself that the privacy was nice and that she didn't want to be a bother to anyone. But she knew the truth; she was downright lonely.

Yes, she had Amy and Lottie, but they weren't always around. Even if they were, she couldn't always discuss everything if others were nearby. Drawing her knees to her chest, she picked up the sketch pad that lay beside her. Sitting and sketching without being disturbed always made her feel better. She pulled out the wooden pencil that was propped in the binding. Her sketchbook had been one of the few belongings she had in the bag that she had been carrying the day she had been carried off to 1801. Flipping to her latest drawing-in-the-making, a fuzzy foal, she began to shade in the lines that would bring the figure to life.

Across the deck, fourth-lieutenant Archie Kennedy watched her, or what he could see of her, anyway. After all, she was half-hidden from his view. He wondered what was going on in her head; he wished he knew if she was all right. He wanted her to be alright, to be happy here. He also wanted to just, well, _talk_ to her- not about anything in particular. It was something he couldn't really explain. Just being around her gave him a contented feeling, as well as the desire to please her. He looked around to be sure he wasn't needed, and then strode her way.

"Are you alright there, Cat?" Cat jumped at his voice and looked up to see who was speaking, though she was pretty sure she knew.

"Oh, I'm fine. You startled me, is all," she gave him a tentative smile, and felt relieved when he smiled back.

"Is that one of those new German inventions? What's it called… a pencil?" he asked, pointing to the odd tool she held in her hand. His younger sister happened to be an aspiring artist and was always talking about the latest designs of drawing utensils. Cat's heart beat rapidly against her chest. She didn't know what to say. Were the Germans the first ones to invent pencils?

"Um, yes," she finally answered, biting her lip in anticipation. She would have to remember not to draw with a pencil in front of anyone ever again.

"My younger sister, Laura, loves to draw. I hear her talk of pens and brushes and pencils incessantly." He hesitated, then asked, "May I see what you're working on?" He held his hand out. For a moment Cat wasn't sure what he meant. _"Oh, duh!"_ She nodded quickly.

"Of course." She surrendered her sketch pad. While he was looking, she climbed to her feet in what she hoped was a ladylike fashion. When she had straightened out her skirts she looked back towards him. He had a slightly dumbstruck expression on his face.

"_This_ is what you were drawing?" He held the picture out at arms length and studied it. The young artist nodded. "This is incredible!" he said, his eyes dancing with wonder. Cat blushed slightly. Everyone said that.

He went slowly past dozens of drawings of horses in various poses- trotting, cantering, jumping and rearing. "You take a liking to horses I'm guessing?" Immediately after he asked the question, he realized it made him sound dense; that should have been obvious. But instead of giving him a condescending expression, a passionate light glowed in her eyes.

"Oh yes. I've loved them for as long as I can remember."

Archie nodded, then laughed softly. "I don't really get a chance to be around horses much, as I spend most of my time at sea," he said sadly. "I'm afraid I'm not much of an expert. Horatio, though, is _completely_ hopeless." Grinning, he proceeded to tell of a time when they had been in France. Horatio had been granted the honor of riding alongside the French Marquis, but when he had tried to mount, he hadn't been able to keep the horse still, "Kept pulling the poor thing in a circle, all the while with one foot in the stirrup."

Cat clapped her hand over her mouth in attempt to stifle the giggles that were attacking at the vision of Horatio hopping around with an annoyed look on his face. Archie leaned on the railing, her amusement mirrored in his expression. After composing herself, Cat wiped her eyes and Archie moved on through the pages.

Near the beginning of the book, he turned to a picture that made Cat close her mouth tight and color started to creep into her face; no laughing now. She had forgotten about _that_ one_. _ It was a picture of Wellard she had drawn for Lottie before they had left. She had given it to her for her birthday last year.

Archie's eyes went wide at the sight of the familiar face staring back at him. "You drew this just in the time you were here?" Cat hated to lie to _him_, of all people, but she couldn't exactly tell him the truth. He wouldn't believe her. For a moment, she opted for saying she was psychic, or that it was just some other fellow she knew back home, but both she and Archie knew that wasn't possible.

"Yes," she said slowly. Archie said nothing more, but went on flipping through her sketch pad. It was Cat's sincere hope that Archie didn't think she fancied Wellard now. Cat suddenly remembered what, or rather who, else she had drawn before. _"Crap!"_ Mentally kicking herself, she looked on in horror as Archie turned all that way back to the first page in the pad. Now he found himself staring into a mirror image of himself. "_How am I going to explain this?"_ Cat thought wildly, her mind racing, trying to come up with a valid explanation.

"Well, not only do you draw accurately- you draw fast, also," was all he said. It was an innocent enough statement, but it made Cat squirm with guilt.

"I've had a lot of time here," she said, frantically trying to justify her newfound 'fast drawing ability'. Keeping her eyes glued to deck, she shrugged innocently. With a puzzled look on his face, Archie gazed at the picture a moment longer, then seemed to imperceptibly shake himself. As soon as the moment had come, it passed, and he handed the pad back to her.

"I'll let you get back to it," he said, dipping his hat to her politely. He knew he should say something more, but what would he say? Besides, she probably wanted to be left alone. Though she had appeared to be happy only a moment before, now it was if she had just closed up- like a flower as soon as the sun rose. Slowly he walked away, sincerely hoping he hadn't troubled her. Cat was a mystery, that was for sure- a mystery that he found himself wanting desperately to know and understand.

**Until next time, my readers. Review, **_por favor_**! (I'm getting in the mood for the journey to Santa Domingo) And yes, the Germans were the first to invent pencils, just in case you were curious. **


	6. In The Shadows

**This is my personal favorite chapter thus far. Hope you like. :) **

_Chapter 5: In The Shadows_

Amy had lost track of the days since they had left port. Once again, the night had began to set in as the sun dropped below the horizon of the never-ending sea. And to think that some people wondered why only the _exciting_ parts were shown in movies! _"This would definitely be why,"_ she mused, leaning on the railing and staring at the endless expanse of ocean before her. Well, at least the view was nice- very nice indeed. She raised a flirtatious brow as two younger sailors walked by.

But in spite of the abundant supply of eye-candy, nothing seemed to be going right; first, there was Horatio being his blunt, clueless self. Why could she never seem to get his attention? And then there was _William Bush_. The sight of him across the deck made her want to pull someone's hair out- preferably his. It was bad enough that his first impression was highly offensive, but his constant snipes about _"a woman's place"_ were beyond aggravating. In her seditious musing, she didn't notice Cat walk up and lean, facing the deck, next to her.

"What's wrong?" Cat asked, seeing her friend's tense expression.

"Oh, nothing. Just planning the _perfect_ murder," Amy replied with another glare towards her opponent across the deck.

"Ah." Cat knew exactly who her friend was talking about. "Don't let him get to you. I mean, technically he _is_ one of the good guys- at least, later he is." She was referring to the series, of course.

"Well right now he's a right pain in the- " she broke off. "Oh! _There's_ Horatio! He's been hiding out below deck all day, that shy little puppy. But he can't escape this time…" Her voice trailed off as she scurried away.

Cat sighed in the sudden silence. Bush was a lot more obnoxious in reality than the actor had appeared to be on screen. Despite her assurances to Amy, his remarks had gotten to her, too- and they hurt. Bush's comments aimed at the three of them seemed only infuriated Amy further, where as Cat and Lottie, as hard as they tried to remember that he would be one of the good guys in the end, were left silenced and wounded.

Heaving a sigh, Cat pushed off with her heel and headed below deck. _"I guess I'll read and then go to bed- the usual routine,"_ she thought. That was exactly what she had been doing for the past numerous nights. She missed when the three of them had treated every night like a slumber party- staying up talking and giggling about the pleasing appeal of certain figures until they collapsed. But lately Amy had been staying out later and later, giving the excuse that she "felt like it". Cat was pretty sure she'd overheard an argument between her and Bush about the time women should go to bed- or something silly of that sort. It would be just like Amy to stay awake past her curfew to prove him wrong. At times, Cat thought that they argued just for the fun of it, but Amy proved her wrong, occasionally coming back in bitter tears.

She walked behind the curtain partitioning off the midshipman's berth, planning on getting out the copy of Shakespeare's something-or-other, she could never remember. _The Merchant of Venice_, or something, was a book Amy had snitched from someone on board. Now that she was in the dim, rocking room she was already feeling sleepy. She cast off her shoes, shed her dress and flopped into bed. As she looked over at Lottie's hammock, her earlier thought train returned.

When Lottie came to bed, she more often than not would come in, change, and climb into her hammock silently. She always appeared to be brooding over something, so Cat didn't bother her. It was to be expected, as Cat knew that their stay on the _Indomptable_ had been hard on her friend and she needed time to recover. Still, she missed her company.

It was odd how a feeling of isolation had come over Cat lately- she felt a bit of distance between her and her best friends for the first time. It was almost better to be fighting; then she knew what she had done wrong. Here, she hadn't done anything. Perhaps it was because of the wonder that they were aboard the Renown, in the 1800's of all places. Cat still felt the need to pinch herself once in awhile, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. So yes, she knew Lottie and Amy weren't purposely avoiding her, but still- she felt ignored.

Well, except by one person. Archie always seemed to be around. Whether taking the time to talk to her, or just smiling at her from across the deck, he made her feel wanted and content. Just the very thought of him gave her a warm feeling inside, and she fell asleep, any of her later thoughts lost in unconsciousness.

Soon after she dropped off, Cat awoke with seasickness and clutched her belly. She tried to lay there awhile, but the swaying of the hammock just made it worse. Slowly she raised herself to sitting position, all the while breathing through her nose. Sitting wasn't much better. _"I give up," _she she started to climb out the hammock, Amy tottered in through the curtain. Cat jumped and then hugged her arms around her middle.

"Where were you?" she asked curiously. Amy rolled her eyes and began to change out of her dress.

"Up keeping Horatio company- he's on watch, you know." She turned to Cat, her eyes gleaming faintly. "I wish something would happen soon."

"Why?" Cat whispered, careful not to wake Lottie, who had apparently come in soon after her and had swiftly fallen asleep.

"Oh, come on, something has _got_ to happen soon, because absolutely nothing has happened so far that we know is going to happen. Sort of." Cat sat still- her stomach still cramping- and tried to decipher Amy's jumbled sentence.

"I, for one wish none of that would come. None of it's good." Amy wasn't to be dampened, though, and just shrugged.

"It's better than just sitting around. Action! I need action!" she whispered mock-dramatically as she sprawled into her hammock. Cat only shook her head. Now that Amy was quiet, her earlier discomfort returned full force. She tumbled out of the tipping hammock and shuffled towards the curtain.

Amy whispered sleepily, "Where are you going?"

Cat replied softly, "Out for fresh air; my stomach hurts."

Amy mumbled incoherently, "I think it's raining," and waved sluggishly as Cat slipped out from the curtain. Listening hard, Cat heard the patter of light rain dropping onto the deck above. Deciding to just walk around in the relatively deserted passages until she felt well enough to return to bed, she walked mostly in darkness. Every few yards, a miscellaneous lantern hung on a hook would illuminate a small portion of the walkway. As she passed a storeroom of some sort, she heard footfalls steadily coming her way.

At that moment, walking towards her- not knowingly- was Archie. Just having come from his watch, he was physically dead tired, but just couldn't sleep. As he rounded a corner, he almost ran into a startled Cat. She jumped, tripping backwards. Archie leaned forwards and grabbed for her hands, catching a hold of her wrist just as she slammed her shoulder into the wall.

"Sorry! Are you all right?" He helped her to her feet. "I'm terribly sorry," he repeated earnestly. Cat shook her head, trying to clear it.

"No. I mean, no, I'm not hurt. Not broken anyways." She tried to smile up at him, but it came out more of a weak grimace. He cocked his head in concern.

"You should sit a moment." He led her towards several overturned barrels, a guiding arm across her back. Cat forgot the dull pain in her shoulder at his touch. "Here you go," he said, carefully sitting her down, and then taking a seat beside her. "Now, if I may ask, what are you doing up, roaming the ship at night?"

Cat leaned back on the smooth surface of the wood. "Oh, that. I didn't feel well- seasick, I suppose. I'm much better now. That is, I was until someone bumped me into a wall." She grinned- assuring Archie she was teasing. "And I could ask the same thing about you. Why are you up? Are you on duty?"

"No, I just finished my watch, actually," he paused. After being silent for a second, he took an intake of breath, then said as if he had just thought of it, "You just reminded me of something I've been meaning to ask you- it's not important, but- you're really American then? I-" He was cut off as Cat spouted with laughter.

"We're not all bad!" she protested. When she caught her breath, she continued, "If you're talking about the accent, I suppose it's just something I've picked up. I can just as easily stop it," she said, dropping at once her supposed 'English' accent.

Archie chuckled. "Well, I hate to bring up an age-old childish argument, but now _you're_ the one with the accent." Cat giggled, then spoke, switching back to the accent that had become so familiar and natural.

"I'll warn you- don't get me started about that."

"Ah, now you're starting to sound recognizable again." Cat started to smile again, but was interrupted by a yawn that cracked her jaw. "Getting tired?" She nodded, a bit sheepishly. "We should both get some sleep; I need to be up in a few hours." He stood and offered his hand to her. She obliged, letting his strong grasp help her to her feet. After she had steadied herself, Archie offered to escort her back to her quarters. As they set back in the direction Cat had started from, both of them noticed- very appreciatively- that neither of them had loosened their hands from the clasped position they were in.

The relatively short walk was soon over. When they reached the Midshipman's Berth, Archie stopped just to the side of the entrance. Placing both his hands over Cat's, he looked down at her and, as usual, was almost startled by her exquisiteness. Even in the dark, he found her beautiful. "Goodnight, Cat," he said softly, and leaned down, giving her a chaste kiss on her brow.

As he turned away and started towards his own quarters, he heard a soft voice whisper, "Goodnight Archie." When he turned around to give her one last smile, she was already gone. As he walked away for the final time, he felt that smile playing around his lips, and his heart felt light.

Much further into the night, when all but those on watch were sound asleep, _Lottie heard laughing. It wasn't merry laughter, nor evil- it was purely insane. It echoed and bounced off the wooden walls of the hallway, haunting her, making her completely terrified. Slowly she crept along the looming antechamber until she came upon a door. She opened it to find a sobbing Cat and Amy, who were bent over bodies- a row of corpses, cold and dark. "No," Lottie whispered as she was able to see clearly the faces of the dead. There was Archie, and Horatio, and Buckland, and that rude midshipman Johnson, and Matthews, and Styles, and the man who had sold her the Daffodil, and Ms. Dither, and- Lottie inhaled sharply. There, last in the row, was Wellard, his eyes dull and skin pallid. At this she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming with dismay. Seeming to only then notice her, Cat and Amy turned to face her. They rose, their eyes gaunt and dark- almost surreal. They both turned to her, angry and contorted. "You," hissed Cat, and she pointing an accusing and hateful finger towards her. Amy did the same, her fingernails long and dripping with deep crimson liquid. "You. You. YOU. YOU." They chanted, getting louder and louder till their shouts were deafening, and Lottie thought she could stand it no more. Tears rolled down her cheeks and once more she heard the insane laughter again, growing closer and louder. The door opened, and she realized the laughter was coming from the figure at the door. Turning her head, she saw, to her horror, the French Captain of the Indomptable, grinning with lust and malice. The riding crop that had scarred Lottie's back was clutched in his raised fist. The Captain opened his mouth, letting out a bellowing, taunting guffaw. Lottie screamed as loud as she ever had, petrified. _

Lottie woke with a start. The dark images of her dreams flooded through her mind, swirling into an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. She glanced fearfully at her sleeping companions, who were oblivious to the horrors she had seen. If she had screamed aloud, it appeared that her companions had not been awakened by it. Then again, they were very heavy sleepers- most of the time.

Through blurred vision she rose from her hammock and pulled back the curtain. Her eyes now threatening to spill unwanted tears. The midshipmen's even breathing assured her that none had awakened. One particularly large midshipman was even snoring slightly. Silently, she slipped past the hammocks and made her way to the top deck. She needed some fresh air- and time to think.

But she was wrong to think that all of the midshipmen slept soundly. Wellard's hammock was closest to the girls'. He watched Lottie curiously as she stumbled down the passageway to the deck. He had woken at the sound of her mumbling behind the curtain. She had cried out only once, and heavy, irregular breathing soon followed, telling him that she had awoken from her nightmare. Maybe he should follow her. She was in obvious distress. Perhaps he could be some consolation to her. Now fully awake, he rose from his hammock and made his way quietly up to on deck.

Lottie gripped the edge of the rail, her hands shaking as she peered down at the dark, black ocean. The moonlight played and sparkled along the surface of the water, lighting up the world in a white, almost haunting, radiance. "Don't cry," she ordered herself aloud. In defiance of her spoken order, two tears slipped down her cheeks. She had always hated crying- it was so embarrassing. It always made her feel so stupid and vulnerable. Yet, nighttime had always been the perfect time to breakdown. Alone in the darkness, no one could see or hear her. She wiped her eyes roughly, annoyed by her weakness.

For the first time in a while, she thought of her family. Lottie truly missed them. She had tried so hard to push her former life from her mind, and focus on the present situation. There had not been time for tears or mourning aboard the _Indomptable_. No, it was then that her mind had to be quickest, in order for them to escape. Now that things had settled somewhat, and she actually had time to dwell on the astounding fact that she was truly living in the year _1801_, her thoughts traveled back to her surroundings in America, 2011.

Here, awake and alone, she could not help but think of her family. Her sisters, Eleanor and Melissa, even though aggravating at times, had always been there to cheer her up by making her laugh. Her father and mother, similarly, had always been there to love, support and advise her. Yet, it was as if they had all sunk in the imaginary ship wreck she had supposedly survived. It was just as if they were dead, for all were gone and Lottie would never see them again.

It was true; this had forever been her life long dream, to find herself in the time of Horatio Hornblower. Even though the lack of technology- no iPods, remember?- was still somewhat annoying, what she really longed for was her family and friends she had left behind. This she knew was impossible.

_She wanted to go home, but nobody was home. _

It was something she would be forced to accept. Even if the Captain returned them to America, it wouldn't be as if she was returning home. It would be completely different. The place she had originally lived in had not even become a state yet. In fact, it wasn't even a part of America. Her eyesight blurred once more.

She heard footsteps approach and come to a stop behind her. Turning around, she saw Wellard. He looked at her, his gaze one of empathy. Without a sound, she moved closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in a tight and protective embrace. She buried her face into his warm chest, hearing the comforting sound of his heartbeat and feeling the calming, even rise and fall of his breathing.

Hours, or possibly mere minutes passed before Wellard gently released her and Lottie wiped her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She had never really told him much about her journey before coming aboard the Renown. Very seldom was her family or life before her 'adventure' at sea mentioned, and when her family _was_ brought into a conversation she became glassy-eyed and quiet, so Wellard thought it best to drop the subject. Then again, he had never really told her much about his painful life before the navy, so in that sense, they were even. Perhaps she would talk about it now, under the light of the moon, alone with him.

Lottie nodded. Letting out a weak sigh, she began with an excuse, "This is so pathetic. I'm not a child anymore, yet my dreams still have the ability to frighten me out of my mind."

"You're not pathetic for being frightened by a dream, Lottie, or more so, a nightmare, it looks like," Wellard told her, his arms still wrapped reassuringly around her waist.

Nodding, she decided she had better tell him her dream, no matter how horrid, so that she might give a reason for her tears. "Cat and Amy were terribly angry with me. They were livid. There were rows and rows of dead- and for some reason, it was all my fault. Then, I heard laughter, such horrid laughter. And," here she choked and her eyes filled with tears once more, for it was the first time she had spoken of the French Captain she had come to hate so much, "I saw, I saw _him_."

"Who?" asked Wellard gently. She looked up at him fearfully and Wellard could see fresh tears had appeared in her eyes. "Saw who, Lottie?" he asked again softly, taking her hand in his and running his thumb along it.

Lottie shook her head and bowed her head shamefully. This she did to hide the tears now streaming down her face. She couldn't help it but cry- it was always that way with her. Never had she been one of those people who could stop tears from falling. Once she started, she couldn't stop until it was all out of her.

He tipped her head back up and gently cupped her face in his hands. "You need not hide your face from me. Tears are nothing to be ashamed of," he told her quietly.

"It's- It's just that I hate crying, especially in front of people," she half spoke, half whispered.

He gave her a small smile of understanding and tenderly wiped away a tear that clung to her cheek. "So do I," he told her, and after a pause, "Will you not tell me who you saw?"

Lottie wiped her eyes vigorously. Composing herself, she answered, "I will. But will you please promise to keep in confidence what I am about to tell you?" Wellard nodded. "The Captain of the French frigate we escaped from- the _Indomptable_- is the man I saw."

Wellard cocked his head, puzzled. They had been on a _French_ frigate previously? He had never been told this, and secrets were rarely held for very long on ship- the Renown had a very gossipy crew.

"We didn't tell Captain Sawyer, for it is a long and painful story. After the storm stranded us three survivors, a French frigate found us. We were saved, or so we thought. It was the worst experience I have had in my entire life," she said bitterly. "The crew was lustful and greedy; the Captain was a mad man. One night, when he was drunk, he accused Cat of being a British spy. When I defended her, the Captain became enraged and- and took his anger out on me," Wellard's eyes went wide. He could only imagine what the Captain had done to her.

Out of habit more than anything, Lottie reached up her hand and touched her back. Because of the commotion she had caused while dreaming, a few welts had reopened and had begun to bleed lightly. Wellard followed his hand up her arm and turned her back towards him. The bleeding had caused her chemise to stain, making a crisscross of deep red on her back. Wellard felt an indescribable feeling of anger sweep over him. The red welts didn't belong on Lottie, a woman, a _lady_. "Did he do this?" he asked, his voice low with resentment.

"Yes," answered Lottie sadly, who had turned around quickly to draw his acute attention away from her back. "Of course, that wasn't _all _he did. No, I never believed that we would ever suffer such utter torment. We honestly considered suicide," she told him morbidly.

"This is why you escaped, and were found in that jolly boat?" he asked, his voice hard to interpret. She looked into his eyes, they held anger and confusion. Wellard had always been protective of those he cared about, and Lottie was no exception. His anger was palpable, now that he had discovered the harm she had suffered at the hands of such a wicked being.

"Yes," she answered him finally, her lips barely moving.

There was a question unspoken in Wellard's eyes. Just how far had the Captain gone in his abuse of them? Surely he wouldn't dare- yet, then again, maybe be would. Upon seeing his vexed face, Lottie immediately understood his thoughts. "And no, Wellard," she said, causing him to raise an eyebrow in question, "We three remain, I apologize for my necessary bluntness, maids." Wellard blushed, but smiled, greatly relieved.

A sailor walked past them at that moment, and Lottie suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were not solely alone. An occasional officer or sailor would walk across the quarterdeck, going about their watches or nightly duties. "I suppose we should try to get some sleep," Wellard said, echoing her very thoughts. Lottie nodded tiredly. After crying, she always felt exhausted- it seemed to take everything out of her, as if every feeling had been emptied. She had revealed a about herself, which wasn't something she often did. However, it was comforting to know Wellard would keep it secret between the two of them.

He took her hand and led her silently back to her hammock, much as a parent would lead a docile child to bed. Stopping just outside of the curtain, she shyly turned to face Wellard. "Thank you- for everything. You're always so kind to me. I don't know why," she paused before continuing, and then decided to add, "You've become such a dear friend to me."

"I care about you, Lottie. I- I can't stand it when you're upset." He truly loved her, much more than just a friend would. That he knew for certain now; though he couldn't come to confess this to her. Not yet, anyway. What if she rejected him? It would surely ruin their friendship. Lottie smiled up at him, the only smile she had given him all night. Wellard felt somewhat comforted by it. If she could give him a genuine smile, then she must be somewhat alright. He smiled back at her gently.

Feeling the urge to show her gratitude, rather than only express it with words, Lottie stood up on the tips of her toes, leaned over and kissed him delicately on his warm cheek. Backing away slowly, she told him sincerely, "I care about you too, Henry." _More than you know._ she added silently. She then disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Wellard to ponder about what had just occurred.

As Wellard got into his hammock he wondered if she felt the same way about him as he did her. Lottie was truly the most beautiful- not only in appearance, of course, but in manner- woman he had ever known. He couldn't believe the suffering she had gone through. No woman should have to experience such a beating, much less someone as kind and as gentle as she was. One thing was for sure; he would never let her repeat that experience again with anybody- not even Captain Sawyer, someone he did not dare contradict in any way. It was decided. He would protect her from harm, no matter what the cost.

**Ok, you can say it now: AWWWW. *smirks* Oddly enough, this is my mom's favorite chapter as well. Interesting, that is. Well, review-time people!**


	7. A Day In The Life of

**This one has to go to the Beatles, as they were my inspiration for my title. From now on, I will update every _two_ weeks, as to save at least a small part of my sanity. Read and review, my friends!**

_Chapter 6: A Day In The Life of_

"I hate him!" screeched Amy early one morning as she thundered into the Midshipmen's Berth. Lottie and Wellard looked up, startled. Previously, they had both been enjoying their breakfast at the otherwise deserted mess table. Upon seeing them, Amy froze, embarrassed that they had heard her loud exclamation. Then, after a pause, she sighed somberly. "Oh," she said, as if just noticing her friends, "Morning Wellard, Lottie."

Lottie cocked her head, knowing there would be a plausible- and most likely extraordinary- explanation for her friend's behavior. Wellard looked at Amy, concerned. He had never met a woman with such a fragile happiness before. It was quite intimidating. Amy stared into space, looking tense and tearful.

"Wellard, do you mind giving Amy and I a few minutes alone?" Lottie asked her companion softly. Amy looked like she was about to cry, which was something, as much as she liked having an audience, she would prefer to do in private.

Nodding understandingly, Wellard said, "Of course," and gave Lottie's hand a squeeze under the table. Though he didn't want to leave her, he knew it was best. Giving Lottie a small smile of encouragement, he left, tipping his hat to Amy sympathetically.

Lottie scooted over and patted the seat next to her. Presently, Amy plopped down. "What's wrong, Ames?" Lottie asked her friend gently.

Amy banged her head against the table. "_He_ said that it would be pointless for a woman to take any leadership role- that it should be the _man's_ job," Lottie could guess as to whom Amy was referring- a highly irritating Mr. Bush, no doubt. "_He_ called me ignorant, saying that there was no way a _woman_ would know how to be a leader. _But_," she said, jabbing her finger into the wooden table, "I told him that I knew how to be a leader- that I had been one several times. He then replied, 'Who would you ever lead, Miss Galloway?'," she said, mimicking her opponent's infuriatingly humorless voice. "Then, at that moment, the crew- busy swabbing the deck- got a bit careless and _accidentally_ splashed that horrid dirty water all over me." Amy swallowed, and Lottie saw tears fill her eyes. "And then, he- he _laughed_. As did the crew! Not even bothering to apologize to me." She buried her head in her arms.

Lottie put a comforting hand on her shoulder, muttering lowly in her ear, "He's an arse, alright? Don't give him the time of day." Amy looked up, cheered by her friend's choice of words in the description of the enemy; it was not often that a discourteous term slipped from Lottie's mouth.

Lottie smiled. It had been a little over three months since the Renown had rescued them. Amy had befriended just about everyone aboard- even the powder monkeys. All seemed to adore her very presence, save Mr. Bush. It was exceedingly unusual for Amy to form an enemy, but for once, it appeared she had.

Amy wiped her eyes. "Thanks, Lot. I know I overreact to things like this, but I can't help it. I felt so embarrassed and- I love you like a sister, you know?" The two shared a smile. "I'm going back to bed."

Lottie gave her an incredulous look. "But it's already after ten!"

Amy puffed up defiantly. "I don't care. I'm not going to give that scum the satisfaction of seeing me like _this_," she gestured to her stressed and slightly damp attire, "On deck. Now if you'll excuse me, Lottie." Without another word, she pushed the curtain back and fell down into her hammock contently. Lottie just shook her head. There were some things she would never come to understand, such as Amy's acute stubbornness.

Nearly an hour passed before Amy emerged from her enclosed haven. She shoved the curtain aside, her curly hair replaced atop her head in a large bun and a coy smile plastered on her face. Walking up on deck, she glanced around to spot Bush holding a class for the not-so-eager-to-learn midshipmen and Horatio lurking up on the poop deck. An idea formed quickly in her mind, and she chuckled mischievously to herself. "Bad girl," she told herself aloud, causing Matthews to turn around to look at her curiously.

"Say something, Miss?" he asked, unsure whether or not her had heard her correctly. She just smiled sweetly- if not devilishly- at him.

"Pardon me, Mr. Matthews," she said innocently, and then glided across the deck, up the stairs and onto the poop deck. Spotting Horatio, absent-mindedly looking out across the back of the ship, she raced behind him and tapped his shoulder. He whirled around, fearing the Captain, but upon laying eyes on the charm before him, he smiled.

"Good day, Miss Galloway," he told her politely, tipping his hat to her in greeting. Never before had Amy thought of Horatio as adorable, but after looking into his warm brown eyes, she felt her opinion changing rapidly.

"Amy," she corrected him. No matter how many times she had told, demanded, and threatened, Horatio still could not get it through his thick head that he was to call her 'Amy'- not any of the 'Miss' nonsense. Horatio bowed his head apologetically. Glancing discreetly down at Mr. Bush- still busy with his 'class' of midshipmen- Amy smirked. Now or never, it was time to initiate her master plan. "Horatio?"

Horatio cocked his head. "Yes, Miss Gall-" he quickly corrected himself upon looking at Amy's face, "Amy?" Her menacing glare was swiftly replaced with a smile.

"I want to _play_, Horry," she said, using the nickname his to-be wife, in later episodes, would later call him. Though not original, the nickname was definably catchy, if not evilly suggestive. Her eyes now danced with enigma, thoroughly confusing poor Horatio.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. Her only reply to his otherwise unanswered question was a mysterious smile. Without another hesitation, she reached up and swiped his decorated and highly overrated lieutenant's hat and sprinted down the stairs. "Miss!" Horatio shouted promptly, alarmed that his hat was in the hands of a capricious lady, who was now running dangerously close to the edge of the ship.

Glancing behind her for a split second, she saw five laughing midshipmen- one of them a disbelieving Wellard- circled around a scowling Mr. Bush. Amy's antics had evidently disrupted his long-winded lecture, much to the joy of the other midshipmen. Giggling triumphantly, she dashed down onto the second deck and backed herself into an out-of-the-way place, waiting for Horatio to find her.

Out of breath, Horatio approached her, holding his hand out expectantly. "I'm going to have to ask for my hat back, Miss," he said, and smiled. His eyes clearly said, _I've got you now!_

Wearing an impish grin on her face, Amy held the hat closer to her. "Not unless you kiss me, Horry," she told him lightly, though completely serious.

Horatio frowned, unsure that he had heard her correctly. "You want me to…?" he asked, and Amy promptly nodded, smirking. Surely there was a way around this! Horatio had always been somewhat awkward around women. To kiss a lady, alright- a very _alluring_ lady- was out of the question. What if the Captain somehow found out? The punishment for messing around with one of his guests would be undoubtedly severe. "But- But can't you just…?" he sputtered helplessly. He was quite unsure of what to say. Amy just shook her head, a pout on her lips.

"If you want this back," she said, shaking his hat playfully, "You're going to have to kiss me."

Was there no way out of this? On second thought, she was very pretty. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. Horatio rubbed his forehead. _"Here goes nothing."_ Sighing, he leaned to kiss her. Their lips touched chastely for a solemn moment before Amy draped her arms around his neck and Horatio found himself reluctantly pulling her closer to him. The kiss had advanced to a much higher level than Horatio had ever intended. On the other hand, Amy had Horatio _right_ where she wanted him. This was going to be so sweet, so very sweet.

"Mr. Hornblower?" asked a startled, and somewhat dismayed Mr. Bush. The two broke apart, Horatio with a horror struck look on his face and Amy giggling delightedly.

"S- Sir?" stuttered Horatio stupidly, clearly not knowing what to say. Amy took the following awkward silence as her cue to exit. She had played her part well, but now it was time to take a bow and allow the curtains of her stage to close- leaving her audience mystified.

"Gentlemen," she said, excusing herself. She ran a finger along Horatio's chest as she walked past the stunned lieutenants. Calling a suggestive, "I'll be seeing you," to Horatio and throwing a look of utmost contempt towards Bush, she made her way back up to the top deck.

Horatio quickly excused himself, leaving Bush thoroughly disgruntled and annoyed. The most insufferable of 'ladies', whom he had debated with incessantly throughout the voyage, had seemed to have had recovered from her earlier embarrassment. Which, Bush thought, was to be deserved after spouting off such impossible ideas. Now, she was back to her normal, playful self and had resumed her ridiculous games. Surely this flirting would only lead to evil! It was pure danger to toy with the men's affections. It was his sincere hope that the officers would be able to control themselves. The crew, however, Bush judged to not be as disciplined.

A feeling had risen inside him at the sight of his fellow officer kissing _her_, of all the women in the world. Recognizing this emotion as anger, possibly even jealousy, he quickly shook it off- repulsed at the idea. _Him_? Jealous? Never! However, if anyone should be kissing that impossible child, it should be him, and not anyone else.

Had he really just admitted that? Slip of the tongue, that was all. It was true that he was, as most would consider it, single. There wasn't a single sweetheart anxiously awaiting his return. Even so, it was Miss Galloway's business to be messing with the hearts of the men aboard, not his. The Captain had obviously accepted, or rather, chosen to ignore, her foolery. There was nothing he, a mere lieutenant, could do about it. He had to accept that it would be left alone. This did not comfort him, as he knew that he would have to tolerate her frolics for the remainder of the journey unsupported.

Up on deck, Lottie had hidden herself away in what she thought to be a clever position. She had found a hiding place along the bow of the ship. From here, she had a lovely view of the ocean and sky- both an optimistic blue. Though Cat had been the first to discover this place, Lottie had, for the moment, claimed it. Running a finger along the side of the deck dreamily, she sat down and closed her eyes, leaning her back against the side of the ship. The sun was warm and bright, making her sleepy. It was a flawless afternoon.

All three girls had settled in nicely since their stop in Plymouth. Everyone seemed to like them well enough, besides Amy and Bush being recently formed nemeses. The fact was, the crew did not know how to rightfully react to their presence. They didn't know whether they should treat them as royalty or equals. Nonetheless, Cat and Lottie had become nearly inseparable to both Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Wellard, and Amy with practically everyone aboard. It was seldom that were they found apart. Lottie was glad that she had made such allies for several reasons. It wasn't just because she now spent her time with what she thought to be the most amiable and handsome persons on the Renown, but because she now had knew she could be assured that she would be protected, from the crew or, if needed, from the Captain.

The ship had _almost_ become a home to her, almost- but not quite. One of the major things she missed from her former life- besides her family and friends- was the music. If only she had been able to bring her iPod. Giggling, she realized the silliness of her former thought; it seemed pointless to imagine having such an invention now. _"C'est la vie,"_ she thought glumly. At the moment she had several songs in her head, the lyrics desperate to release themselves from her mind. It would have helped if she had been able to hear them.

In her head, she started to sing through the beginning of a song that had been repeating itself in circles for the last two days. Halfway through the song, she was no longer able to contain it, and began cautiously singing the words aloud. No one was around, no one would hear her.

_There's nothing and no one we'll miss._

_And one day, we'll look back with no regrets._

_Please don't drift away from me. _

_We have to go a thousand oceans wide,_

_A thousand dark years when time has died,_

_A thousand stars are passing by._

_We have to go a thousand oceans wide,_

_A thousand times against an endless tide,_

_Then we'll be free._

After the song ended, and her voice along with it, she sighed contently. Singing always helped her to relax and temporarily forget her troubles, no matter the emotion of the song. Remembering her sister, Elizabeth, had always gotten annoyed whenever Lottie randomly burst out into song, she smirked. She knew her sisters had tired of hearing her voice, but that hadn't made her stop. It had been fun purposefully annoying her siblings. That memory only made her miss them all the more. Even still, it was not as painful as before. Her nostalgia had subsided some. She knew in her heart that even though she would always remember her former life, she could move on and make the most of what this new life offered.

"You sing very well," a voice said, breaking her train of thought. Lottie's eyes flew open and she gazed upon the amused face of Wellard. She quickly stood up, brushing off her dress, flustered.

"Oh, I- I didn't know anyone was listening," she said, embarrassed. It wasn't like she thought she was a terrible singer, but she had always hated performing in front of people. It made her feel so open, so exposed. Cat and Amy had always said she was much too modest of her talent.

Wellard smiled sheepishly, "I must confess, when I came looking for you and heard such a voice, I could not bring myself to interrupt it." She had sung a quiet, sad song- filled with passion and yearning. Yet somehow it sounded distant, and unfamiliar. The only songs he had heard of late were rough and lively tunes played by a drunk and happy crew. It was quite nice to hear something different, something more serious.

"It's called _Thousand Oceans_," she told him. "I thought it was beautiful, so I learned it on our pianoforte." She smiled at the memory. "I remember my sisters would get it stuck in their heads, and go about the house, humming it all the time."

Wellard noticed the return of the distant, sad look that crossed Lottie's face every time her family was brought up. Usually she would become somber, and say very little. Perhaps it was the sunshine, or the blue sky, but today it seemed like Lottie _wanted_ to talk about her past.

Taking a chance, Wellard asked, "Sisters? How many were there?"

"Just two- Elizabeth and Miranda," she giggled. "I don't know how, but they always knew how to make me so frustrated. I swear, they argued with me just for their entertainment. Though annoying at times, I loved them, and- I miss them terribly," she smiled faintly.

After a pause she asked, "Do you have siblings?"

A distant look very similar to Lottie's crossed Wellard's face. He knew she was only being polite, not trying to be nosy. It was just that he never really shared about his only sibling, his twin sister, Isobel. He had hid away a lot of himself and had rarely smiled after her death several years ago. Since he had met Lottie, however, he had smiled, really _smiled_, and finally had someone who would be patient enough to listen- and perhaps, understand. After all, Lottie _was_ different. She carried herself differently than the typical 'lady' he had seen parading about before. No, she was kind- and she cared.

"I did, once," he answered her, at last. Closing his eyes, he brought to mind the smiling face of his elder sister. He had loved her more than anything in the world. "Her name was Isobel, but she was always called Issy. She was only a few minutes older than I, but she never ceased to boast that _she_ was the eldest of us two. I loved her dearly- she was my best friend."

Here he paused, unsure of whether or not to continue. It wasn't a pretty story, and it didn't have a happy ending. Feeling a warm hand on his, he opened his eyes. Lottie looked at him, her eyes searching his.

"What happened to her?" she asked gently- her voice innocently inquisitive.

Sighing shakily, he swallowed, "After our mum died of the fever, I promised I would protect Isobel. And I did, or at least, I meant to. It was December, and we were cold, as well as rushed to get back home. We stupidly decided to take a short cut home through the alleyway."

Lottie looked at him, beginning to realize something. Surely he couldn't mean the same alleyway they had traveled through in Plymouth? The sad look in his eye told confirmed her thoughts.

He shut his eyes, as if wishing to block out the memory. "We were surrounded by a street gang. They fought me- a scrawny eleven-year-old. Isobel tried to get them off of me, but they were much bigger than she was. They pushed her away, and she slipped on the ice. After they had taken what they wanted, they left. I crawled to my fallen sister, only to find that she was no longer breathing. I guess she had hit her head hard, upon the ice. So much blood," he whispered, and slowly opened his eyes. They held more than just sadness. There was a desolation that Lottie had never seen with such intensity in anyone's eyes, much less Wellard's.

"I-" Lottie searched for words, rendered speechless by his tale. Sure, she had heard tragic stories such as this before, but now hearing from one who had actually experienced it brought things closer to home. It was true that he was probably one of many all over the world who had experienced death so young- but he was the first Lottie had known personally.

"I cannot imagine the horror," she said finally. Yes, her family had supposedly died and she would never see them again, but to actually _see_ death, to see it happen so suddenly- that was something she hoped she would never know. Wellard bowed his head.

"I failed. Not a day passes when I don't remember my failure," he whispered mournfully, "I failed to keep my promise, to protect her."

"No," Lottie told him firmly. "You must not blame yourself for her death, Wellard."

"How could you possibly know?" he asked her coldly, and instantly regretted his tone.

Surprisingly, she did nothing rash- such as cry, scream or walk away. Her eyes simply glazed over, wounded.

"Forgive me," he said, angry with himself for being so tactless, "That was harsh."

Lottie told him carefully, "I suppose you're right. I don't know what it's like to lose a sibling, much less under such circumstances as your own. Although," she paused, thinking about her words carefully, "My grandfather passed away several years ago. Leading up to his death I always promised to visit him- it was advised because everyone knew his time was growing short. Somehow though," she swallowed, her voice cracking slightly, "I never got around to it. I always had other more important things to do- or so I thought. Later, after his death, I confessed to my mother that I couldn't believe I had been so stupid as to prolong a visit that ended up never happening. She then told me that in the end, when you look back at it all, remember the happy times you two shared, not your regrets. After all, that's what he'd want you to remember."

She shook herself, as if coming out of a daze. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling." Her face flushed, and she turned to leave, but stopped when she felt a firm, yet gentle, hand on her shoulder.

"No, Lottie. Perhaps you are right." Wellard bowed his head again, hiding his face. Slowly, a calmness returned to his face and the sadness was washed from his eyes. "Thank you."

Lottie nodded and squeezed his hand encouragingly. It made her cold inside to know that a life had come to an end so soon. She would have liked to have known Isobel; she sounded like a wonderful person. Wellard seemed to light up when he said her name.

Both had formed an understanding between the two of them. They were orphans- without family or wealth. Yet, they found solace and friendship in one another. Somehow, just looking at Lottie made Wellard think that everything was going to be alright; _she_ was there for him, _she_ believed in him, even if no one else did.

Lottie politely began to withdraw her hand from Wellard's, yet he only held on to hers tighter. The twosome stood in the comfortable silence of each other- holding hands.

"Ah- _There_ you are, Mr. Wellard," called Archie as he emerged from behind several barrels. Lottie and Wellard quickly pulled their hands back to their sides, their cheeks coloring. Archie's eyes glowed knowingly. So _that _was how it was between them. He smirked at the awkwardness of the situation. There was something he sensed between Wellard and Miss O'Hara, something much more than just a wanton attraction. He must remember to talk to Wellard about this later. He couldn't tease the boy too heavily, however, in fear of being a hypocrite, as just recently he had held conversation with a young lady the very same place.

"Sir?" Wellard responded, wondering just how long his senior officer had been watching them. He knew he was going to be given a hard time about this later. Archie summoned Wellard back to the quarterdeck, and the boy reluctantly left Lottie alone.

Lottie giggled quietly as she observed the manner of the two. Archie's arms were swinging carelessly at his sides, where as Wellard's hands were firmly clasped behind his back respectfully. It sounded horribly girlish to dwell on the charisma of her dear Mr. Wellard- yet she found herself doing it anyway. Why did she have to be so in love? It was both a curse and a blessing. She found herself unable to think or concentrate on anything else when _he_ was in the room. Likewise, it was hard to be serious when all she found herself thinking about was how adorable it was when he tipped his little black hat or how it made her swoon every time he said her name. And his _smile_- need she say more? It was beautiful and made her feel giddy inside. He was definably marital material, she had decided. Six months ago, the thought of being in love or marrying someone from a completely different century would have made her head spin in circles. But now, for some reason, the prospect of Wellard becoming her lover, or her husband, even, didn't seem all that unbelievable.

However, he was more than just a pretty face or an attractive figure- she knew that now. No longer did she see a shy boy who couldn't think for himself, but a confident and thoughtful young man who's character many were too impatient to discover. It had been different with her than other people. She had gotten to know more than the outward appearance. He had slowly opened up the pages of his tightly shut book, something that was obviously hard for him to do. Yet, he had trusted her with his thoughts, his emotions, his life story. Of all the people to open up to- why her? That was a question for which she did not know if she would ever have an answer.

That evening, Cat lay in her hammock, thoroughly bored. Her hammock swayed back and forth, none too gently, with the unsettled sea. Supposedly, she was reading a nautical book she had gotten from the small collection the midshipmen had gathered together. However, within minutes of beginning it, she discovered that it was impossible to concentrate on something she had not the least bit of interest in. _"How does anyone read this junk by their own free will?"_ So now she laid, hands behind her head, alone in her dull atmosphere.

"Oh, what the heck!" she muttered aloud as she rolled off her hammock. Perhaps Archie was available. Lucky for her, she was quickly directed by a timid Horatio that Archie was in the wardroom- _alone_.

She now stood in front of the wooden door, somewhat nervous. What if there was some rule about not going into the wardroom? Of course, that wouldn't bother Amy, but Cat had never been one to act without thinking first or to break rules carelessly. Raising a hesitant fist to the door, she knocked quietly. Papers rustled and something creaked. More bravely, she knocked again, louder this time. "Well, intrude why don't you?" said a cheerful but preoccupied voice.

Shyly, Cat stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Turning around, she saw Archie seated on the bench that ran the width of the ship, hunched over with a quill and paper in his lap. Looking up, his eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh, forgive me, Cat. I thought you were Horatio again. He's always back for something he forgot." Cat smiled.

"All is well, Archie. What's that you're writing?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

"Not much of interest, I'm afraid- just a much belated letter to my family. They are insistent that I write monthly, no matter where I am. What brings you down here?" he asked, motioning for her to take a seat beside him.

"Boredom, mostly. I gave up on trying to read one of those books on nautical terms; I couldn't understand a word it was saying- even if I did have half an interest in the writing." Archie cracked an absentminded grin, keeping his eyes on the page, but seeming as if he were looking at something else. Cat caught herself. "Oh, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to interrupt you if your busy." With that she started to stand, only to be stopped by his hand, quickly placed on her own. Pleasantly startled, she sank down again.

He didn't know what had made him reach so fast. Just as quickly, he removed his hand, praying he hadn't offended her with the show of informality. "No, not at all. Stay, please. I'm almost done anyways, see?" Allowing her to see his nearly finished letter, he raised his quill and penned a hurried, "_Yours affectionately and etc., Archie._ There, I'm done now." He then opened a large leather bound book on his left and placed the letter inside.

"You know, you seem awfully distracted. Is there anything troubling you?" she asked, frowning. Well, it was an innocent enough question, but Archie felt reluctant to answer; he was pondering the fragility of the Captain's mind- so many things had gone wrong. While the poor sailor falling from the mast resulting from the Captain's furious order was still hauntingly foremost in his mind, that wasn't the _only_ action that caused him to doubt the sanity of his Captain. The frequent, small exchanges and expletives all pointed towards the crashing of an unstable mind.

But to voice these concerns aloud would be considered mutiny, and though he had hinted at this to Horatio, Archie wasn't sure Cat would completely understand. Or even if she did, how could she grasp the gravity of the situation?

Seeming to read his thoughts, she told him quietly, "You can trust me, you know."

Yes, she was right. He knew he could trust her with anything, even his life. And his life would certainly be in her hands if he explained his thinking. Sighing, he rubbed his head jadedly, "I'm not even supposed to be harboring thoughts like this, much less discussing them." The sincerity in Cat's blue eyes was all he needed to continue, and his voice dropped to a hushed tone. "Something is _wrong_ with the captain, or more so, something isn't _right_. The way he's been commanding of late has been rather- erratic. I cannot help but wonder about the condition of his mind." He outlined a few of the actions that had been plaguing his thoughts.

Nothing in her expression portrayed surprise. Was it possible that she had noticed it too? He continued, the relief of having someone listen unreservedly growing stronger, "And not being able to do anything- or say anything, even- is aggravating beyond measure." As he watched her, she stared at nothing, trying to think of a response.

"Surely you are not alone in this observation of the Captain?" Cat was careful to keep her tone questioning, instead of making a statement; she wasn't supposed to know the answer.

"Horatio, I believe, does, but seems quite resolute to keep any such reaction in check. As should I, really, but this is turning dangerous, and should not be ignored." In full steam, he caught himself and looked down at her face, taking in a breath. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to alarm you."

Cat looked up with such a dark concern in her eyes that Archie was almost startled. "I'm not frightened," she said, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I'm _anxious_, I supposes," she whispered, "If this is as grave as you say, what can you do about it?" she paused and then told him, "However, I have no doubt that you _will_ do something. I have faith in you, in all of you." Looking up into his worried blue eyes, she smiled encouragingly.

Archie gave a resigning sigh, and felt some of the tension in his shoulders leave. It was odd, how those simple words sound so encouraging from her. It gave him a small spark of hope. "I don't know what we would do. If the doctor continues to deny the Captain's, erm, condition, we would all surely hang for any action. It is a nearly impossible situation." He gave an ironic laugh, and rested his chin on his hands. They were in a terrible situation, and there was _nothing_ he could do about it. Cat slipped her arm comfortingly around his, not knowing what to say. Peaceful silence followed, and Archie stirred and turned to face her, a deep emotion and resolve reverberating in his blue eyes.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached over and gently brushed a stray lock of her hair that had drifted down from behind her ear. Cat felt his hand hover over her cheek, and remain in place. Archie smiled and gave a small chuckle. "My dear little Cat," he murmured, opening his mouth to speak, forming a simple question. "May I kiss you?"

Cat didn't dare believe her ears. Did he really have to ask? Of course, her answer was, "Yes," she breathed, so softly it was barely audible. With a dream-like elation, Archie leaned down and kissed her gently, but with passion underlying. Cat's whole world went in slow motion, including the beating of her heart. When they pulled apart a moment later, with Archie smiling down at her, her heartbeat sped to such a speed it felt as if it was no longer there. As her gaze met his, it seemed as if the very air around them formed a delicate circlet; one that couldn't be broken by a thousand pounds of force, but could be shattered by a single breath.

**Ooo! A kiss! And perhaps more to follow… well- **_if _**you review! (I am so evil… *cackles*)**


	8. It's a Very, Very Mad World

**Here's the next chapter- I hope you readers likey. Title idea taken from the Tears for Fears song, "Mad World". Thank you for your feedback and support!**

_Chapter 7: It's a Very, Very Mad World_

Lottie was having the most wondrous sleep. Her mind was at ease and she hadn't a care in the world. For the first time in several weeks, she was not having a nightmare. No, indeed. It was good dream; with smiles and sugar and everything pleasant.

Abruptly and rudely, she was awoken.

Thinking it was Amy or Cat feeling extra ambitious that morning, she rolled over and groaned, refusing to budge. It wasn't long before the nudge was back, this time more insistent. Ignoring the gentle prodding, she tried to fall back into her blissful slumber. Now fingers brushed her cheek, sweeping slowly back and forth in a loving- but highly impatient- manner. Her mouth twitched as she tried not to smile- that would reveal that she was conscious. Those fingers tickled! Giving up in returning to her peaceful state of mind, she sat up groggily and frowned at the one who had awakened her.

Wellard looked down at her, grinning mysteriously. "Good morning, Lottie," he said. Lottie tried her best to look angry, but the enthusiasm in Wellard's eyes made it impossible.

"That was mean," she told him, her lips forming a pout.

Wellard laughed briefly, but remained determined, "Forgive me, but we must make haste."

"For what? The sun hasn't even risen yet," she protested sleepily as she was pulled from her hammock.

"Exactly. We'll miss it if-

"Alright, alright!" she interrupted, somewhat grumpy. For too long had she had the privilege of sleeping in late. Looking up at his all-too-cheery face, she felt her frustration begin to fade. She pushed him towards the curtain. "Now shoo, you. Let me get dressed."

Quickly complying, Wellard made his exit. Hearing the impatient tapping of his foot, Lottie dressed hastily and joined him outside the curtain. Taking her hand in his, he led her through the row of hammocks and into the mess area. Here, he stopped, and Lottie felt his body tense. Peeking over his shoulder, Lottie saw that the other four midshipmen eating and laughing at the mess table. Letting out an inward sigh, she squeezed Wellard's hand, knowing the feud between the other midshipmen and himself.

The oldest and rudest midshipman, Johnson, quickly spotted her. "Oh, Miss O'Hara. Good morning and what a pleasure seeing you so early!" he greeted her pleasantly. Then, as if only just noticing her escort, he added a curt, "Mr. Wellard." He then bowed gallantly, and Lottie gave a small, hesitant curtsy.

"Mr. Johnson," was all she said, and Wellard forced himself to hold back a smirk.

"Come, come, Miss. A word if you please," he said, and then paused, sneering menacingly at Wellard before adding, "Privately."

Lottie looked apologetically at Wellard as she was led to the table and seated across from Johnson. Wellard walked away, and turned his back towards the group, as if he had no interest in the matter whatsoever. However, Lottie suspected that he was listening intently for every word.

"Now Miss O'Hara, I must ask why you are so insistent on eating with mere boys," Johnson said, placing a hand upon her own, with a expression of feigned concern.

Lottie knew that he must be referring to the fact that no matter how many times the other midshipmen had invited her to eat with them, she had declined, eating quietly with Wellard instead. It was only right, she thought. It was ridiculous how the others snubbed him so. He deserved to have someone to eat with. Withdrawing her hand cautiously, she told him, "I do not understand your meaning, sir."

"Oh, Miss," he said, frowning disappointedly, "Why do you not sit with men? _Men_ you can depend upon, like those around you now. Instead you sit with the pathetic bundle of boorish behavior know to you as _Mr. Wellard_."

Lottie stood up, her eyes sharp as daggers and cold as ice. Thinking carefully before replying, she addressed the midshipmen in a low voice, "I will have you all know that Mr. Wellard has been a friend to me all these months; why I choose him over other persons as my company should be inevitable. And," she added, growing enraged at the unjustifiable abuse Wellard was suffering at the hands of the other midshipmen, "I dare say that the height or size of someone does not define a man- it is his integrity and regard to others." Which, obviously, these dudes had a lack thereof.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked over to Wellard, leaving the astounded midshipmen to gape open-mouthed, trying to make sense of her lengthy defense of their fellow officer. Indeed, they had never quite heard so many words from a woman before.

Grabbing Wellard's arm, Lottie walked up on deck, fuming silently. Yet, she felt oddly satisfied, as if her defense of Wellard and release of her hidden anger had brought a conclusion to the matter.

"You did not have to speak so nobly of me, Lottie," Wellard told her, his head bowed. Lottie's suspicions had been correct. Either Wellard had very sufficient hearing, or she had spoken louder than she had intended too.

"Yes, I did," Lottie protested. "They're horrible to you, and no one deserves that." Slowly, she turned away, a faraway look in her eye. "Believe me, I know." Then, she smiled, amused, "Now what was so amazing that you had to rob me from my precious sleep?"

Wellard grinned, remembering his temporarily forgotten mission, and turned Lottie around to face the morning sky. Lottie looked, and gasped. There, in front of her, was the most brilliantly colored sunrise she had ever seen. Purple, indigo and crimson hues lined the slowly brightening sky. The sun, a bright, golden circle of light, sat along the glowing horizon. The ocean glimmered with both dark and light tones of scarlet, reminding Lottie vaguely of the Bible story where the Nile was turned to a river of blood.

For once, Lottie was completely speechless. Words did not give this breath-taking sight justice. All tiredness seemed to vanish from her. "Wow," she managed to whisper, "That's awesome."

Amused at her choice of words, Wellard smiled. The girl he loved so dearly had clearly forgotten her abrupt awakening. Now she stood, in awe of the sight she had witnessed. Unfortunately, as quickly as the sunrise had assembled itself in a wave of vivid colors, it began to fade into the promising blue of a new day.

It seemed like forever that Wellard had waited for this moment. An ocean sunrise, he had thought, would be the perfect way to _introduce_, so-to-speak, what was on his mind. Today would be the day that he would tell Lottie he loved her and wanted to take her as his wife. Neither had fortune, or family, but none of that mattered to Wellard.

Only yesterday he had spoken with Mr. Kennedy about Lottie, who had whole-heartedly agreed with the match. He could not be happier for Mr. Wellard; never had he seen the lad so joyous and talkative before. Usually Wellard was soft spoken, keeping to himself and never opening up to anyone. It was only since Miss O'Hara had entered his life that Archie had seen Wellard smile and jest openly, without fear of reprimand.

Yes, today would be the day that Wellard would tell her. Not tomorrow; it always seemed to be delayed. Though this proposal may have seemed rushed to the onlooker, Wellard was perfectly sure Lottie was the girl he wanted to marry. Never had he felt this way before about anyone. No longer could he contain his emotions. Every time he saw her, heard her laugh, or touched her hand, his heart leapt with feelings that had to go unexpressed.

Fear of rejection forgotten, Wellard took Lottie's hand gently in his, causing her to look up. It would have been a very romantic, very private moment, had it not been for the officers and scattered crew walking about the deck, beginning their duties for the day. Trying to ignore them, Wellard looked at Lottie, whose head was cocked, her face bright with curiosity. Now was the moment. Now was the time. There would be no turning back now.

"Lottie," he started. How easy it had been planning what he would say in his head, how hard it was going to be to voice his thoughts aloud!

"Yes?" she prompted, wondering why her companion's face had turned so excited- so _nervous_. Wellard was nervous? That was quite a change- usually he was so serious.

"There's something I need to tell you."

_"Yes?" _thought Lottie, her heart racing impatiently. Whatever was so important? One could dare hope that- no, it couldn't be _that_. Could it? She held her breath, waiting with anticipation.

"I should have said this earlier, but I desperately feared that you would reject-

A sheer pattern of whistles cut across him, letting all of the Renown's crew know that they were needed amongst the sails. Wellard was crushed. "It's alright, go," Lottie told him quietly. "Promise to tell me later?" she asked, trying not to let her own disappointment show.

Wellard nodded, "I promise." Rubbing his thumb across the back of her palm, he hurried to the mast. Lottie sighed, and glanced back at the lieutenants huddled on the poop deck. Seeing Cat amongst them, she walked over to join her. A worrisome look crossed Cat's face as she watched the sailors amidst the many billowing sails.

Hearing her friend approach, Cat turned, a frown etched on her face. "Mr. Bush wanted to take a reef, Lottie," she said softly. Lottie quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever the hell that meant," she added viscously.

"Cat?" Lottie asked, surprised at her friend's tone. Scarcely was a curse word ever uttered from her lips.

Cat sighed exasperatingly. "Do you not remember, Lot?"

Suddenly, a bad feeling came over Lottie- a very, _very_ bad feeling. Dread seeped into her, ruining her short moment of happiness. Though the morning's events had somewhat numbed her usually sharp memory, she could now feel it all returning to her.

"No," she whispered weakly.

Cat nodded sadly. "I hate this," she murmured in her distressed friend's ear.

Looking up, Lottie could see the men hauling away, and the sail beginning to tear. It was not long before Wellard's voice cut across the Captain's commands, "Vast hauling, there! Vast hauling!"

This did not rest at all well with the Captain. Fuming, he called up for Wellard to get down immediately. Poor Wellard would pay for his act of service quite dearly. Horatio attempted to defend the midshipman, saying that he was only doing his duty. The Captain was not to be persuaded, much less by a man he already despised. Both Wellard and Horatio were told to go below, and the Captain summoned for the Bosun, Matthews, and his Mate, Styles. Taking the wooden cane from Matthews hands, Captain Sawyer slapped it against his palm, smiling wickedly at the pleasing 'whack' it made. Lottie watched through horror-struck eyes as he handed Matthews back his cane and explained what exactly he had in mind for Mr. Wellard.

Then, turning to see Cat, Lottie and now Amy, who had come up from below decks to see what all the whistling and yelling was for, he strolled over to them delightedly. "Ah, my guests of honor," he greeted them, chuckling as if he had told an amusing inside joke.

"Sir," said Lottie desperately, her heart pounding, "May I ask what is going to happen to Mr. Wellard?"

The Captain only chuckled once more, smiling broadly, "Just ordinary naval discipline for the disobedient boy, Miss O'Hara. It may interest you, however, how naughty behavior is handled. Come see, I _insist_."

There he went again with his 'insisting' again. Was there no way out of this torture? It appeared so. Lottie reluctantly took his offered arm and the Captain led her below.

The next ten minutes were some of the worst of Cat's life. She herself did not know which would be worse, seeing your friend get unnecessarily beaten before your own eyes, or hearing the repeated swoosh and thud of the Bosun's cane, leaving the imagination to do its work. Archie touched her hand gently. Blinking, Cat realized she had been shutting her eyes. Giving Archie a small reassuring smile, she looked down at the ground again, unsettled.

After the twelfth strike was called out, Lottie appeared from below, her face pale and contorted with a mixture of disgust and fury. The Captain followed suit. Archie and Cat exchanged glances. They dared not voice their thoughts aloud, lest someone overhear. However, there was no need for words- their eyes said it all. Somehow, both of them knew that this would only be the beginning of the Captain's odd behavior.

Their assumption was correct. Wellard was beaten several times throughout the course of the day, all for trivial and exaggerated reasons. Lottie was forced to witness every one of them. There would be no stopping the Captain today- he had it out for Wellard. The boy would pay for his 'misdeeds'. During his final beating for the day- for obvious conspiratorial behavior- Wellard was knocked unconscious. Bravely he had stood his torment, not uttering a single cry. But the harsh cane had taken its toll on the poor lad.

Lottie held her breath, pleading with her eyes for the Doctor to tell Matthews he could not continue. Finally, after a long and suspended moment, the Captain declared that Wellard's punishment had ended. "The dishonorable part of Mr. Wellard has paid for his dishonor," he stated, none too prideful of his witty self.

"_Most poetic, sir,"_ thought Lottie sarcastically. Wellard was carried off to where Lottie presumed would be the sick bay. She turned to follow them, only to be halted by Captain Sawyer. The pain was evident in her eyes as she realized that it would not be possible for her to go to Wellard with the Captain's knowledge. It had upset her so much to see her friend so unjustly hurt; not being able to go to him to offer him some sort of succor was more than just disappointing- it was devastating.

"Come, Miss O'Hara- why don't you and Misses Hampton and Galloway join my in my cabin for dinner?" Sawyer asked, or rather, _insisted_.

Lottie could only nod numbly as she was led away to the Captain's quarters.

That evening, all three girls sat quietly around the Captain's table, hardly touching their food. The meaningless beatings on which Wellard had been embarked had made them all uneasy and somewhat wary of what the Captain would do next.

Pleasantly, Sawyer had tried to make conversation with his guests, who had replied in short and solemn tones. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he tried yet again to get his guests talking. Lovely was the sound of female chatter- no matter what the emotion- as compared to the rough baritone of the ordinary seaman. "A toast," he declared, raising his glass of wine, "To naval discipline."

Cat and Amy hesitantly raised their glasses. Defiantly, Lottie kept her hands folded in her lap. Firstly, she had never liked drinking alcohol in any shape or form. The curious sip and accidental swallow had helped her reach that conclusion. Secondly, after what she had witnessed today, naval discipline was something she could not bring herself to encourage, despite its necessity.

The Captain frowned upon noticing the lack of compliancy among his guests.

"Pardon me, sir," said Lottie shortly, "I could not bring myself to toast to such a vulgar practice." Cat and Amy looked on helplessly, fearing the wrath of the Captain would be unleashed upon them.

Instead, he only laughed, a jolly, mocking laugh. "Miss O'Hara, I suppose your somewhat innocent age must keep you from the knowledge of certain practices. But the beating of naughty children has been around since time began!"

"Only when it was justly deserved, _sir_. And if anyone was to administer it otherwise they should have been rightfully shamed," retorted Lottie, her face flushed. Cat could only pray that the Captain had not been offended by her friend's implying tone.

Shaking his head, as if disbelieving how someone could be so ignorant of the ways of the world, the Captain replied, "Conniving little boys meet their just deserves, Miss O'Hara. Indeed, you would be quite foolish to think that anything good could come of Mr. Wellard. He has no friends or fortune, you know. In fact, it was out of charity more than anything else that he was placed here. I would not be surprised if he had come straight from the streets, a begging and penniless _orphan_," he said, his words cutting into his listeners.

Lottie could take no more. She rose, her hands shaking. "Excuse me sir, I feel quite faint." Dashing as lady-like as she could, she left the Captain's quarters. He made no attempt to stop her.

Furious, Lottie walked briskly down the hall to the sick bay. She had made up her mind to find Wellard. Now was the best time, before the Captain caught and stopped her. "He is the most insolent, insufferable, hateful, malicious, impudent man I've ever-

"Something wrong, Miss O'Hara?" asked a nonchalant voice. Lottie looked up to see Hobbs, peering down at her, his eyes dancing with suspicion. Since the day the girls had arrived, Hobbs had always had a look of hate on his face whenever they looked his way. Perhaps this was because they had clearly stolen his title of 'the Captain's favorite'. No matter what the reason, Hobbs had done everything in his power to destroy the ladies' character. So far, he had failed, as most of the crew despised Hobbs and didn't believe a word that he said. And even if their innocence was tarnished, like Hobbs said, that wasn't such a bad thing, some crewmen figured.

"Nothing whatsoever, Mr. Hobbs. Thank you for your concern." Concern? Ha! More like intent to discover some evil that she was committing and report it to the Captain. Then, giving a slight curtsy, she made her way around him. There would be no more delays in seeing her Mr. Wellard.

Before she could reach for the door to the sick bay, it was opened and Horatio stepped out, a scowl on his face. Noticing Lottie, he nodded, "Miss O'Hara," before continuing down the hall.

Lottie opened the door hesitantly. It squeaked loudly, announcing her arrival. Clive, without turning around, called out, "What is it _now_?" Clearly he had had too many interruptions of his work in the sick bay. Wellard sat on a bench, leaning heavily against a cabinet. His hand clutched the edge of the bench, his eyes drooping with pain and fatigue. Just how long had he been here?

"It's me, sir," Lottie told him. It was only then that Doctor Clive turned around, his eyes questioning.

"Well, what is it you want, Miss?" he said, annoyed. First Mr. Kennedy, then Mr. Hornblower, and now a snooping Miss O'Hara. Would there never be an end to the disruptions of his otherwise peaceful evening?

"My request is that Mr. Wellard be allowed to return to his bunk, sir."

"Take him away," Doctor Clive muttered, turning back to his table. He had had enough of Mr. Wellard's never ending woes for one day. Of course the boy could go back to his bunk; the sooner he disappeared from his sight the better. Besides, Clive had much more important and pressing issues to deal with at the moment, such as getting the Captain his medicine before he made a fool of himself in front of those girls. Sawyer with a wine glass could get pretty interesting.

"Oh, Miss!" Clive called out as Lottie began making her way to Wellard. "Here," he said, and discreetly handed Lottie a small glass bottle, which she assumed contained diluted laudanum. "Make sure he takes some- it'll kill the pain for a while, and help him sleep." Lottie nodded slowly, putting the bottle in the pocket of her dress.

Surprised, but nevertheless relieved at the ease of the dismissal of Wellard, Lottie walked over to the pained figure, who shakily rose to his feet at her arrival. Though obviously still in immense suffering, Wellard managed to walk stiffly out of the sick bay, his eyes shimmering with pain, his jaw clenched. After the two were some ways away from the sick bay, Wellard reached out and took Lottie's hand. If the moment had been less dire, Lottie would have smiled at the action and dwelled upon the calming warmth of his hand. However, now was not the time for such light-heartedness. Instead, she simply held tightly to his hand, assuring him that she had no intention of leaving him. The two walked in silence until they reached the Midshipman's Berth.

Four midshipmen laid in their swaying hammocks, presumably asleep. Softly she led Wellard to his own hammock, and he stood, waiting quietly, while she arranged his bedding. Then, turning to him, she took off his jacket, vest and hat and set them down on top of his wooden sea chest. Sitting down on one end of his hammock, Lottie turned to Wellard, saying, "Come now, Henry," she whispered, "Lay down. You can rest your head on my lap." Wellard nodded gratefully and collapsed, somewhat laboriously, into his hammock, settling his head down gently into her lap, and arranging himself so that he was in the least amount of pain possible.

"Thank you," he said, his voice strained. Remembering the little bottle that weighed heavily in her pocket, Lottie hesitated. Forever and always she would speak out against the use of laudanum. Her observation was that only addictions and hallucinations followed in its wake. Nonetheless, it was true that the opiate helped relieve pain, after all, that _was_ what it had been intended for. Surely just a little couldn't hurt Wellard, and it would relax him. Sighing, she took the bottle from the pocket and tilted Wellard's heavy head upwards.

"Here. It'll help with the pain," she murmured, intending to pour a miniscule amount into his open and waiting mouth. After all, a small amount was ample to rid him of his pain for awhile, as well as put him to sleep. Instead, he grabbed the bottle, wanting much more than Lottie intended to give him. Surprised, Lottie quickly pulled the bottle from him, "Easy now!"

Murmuring his gratitude, Wellard returned his weary head to her lap, clenching and unclenching a fistful of her dress. Lottie stroked his hair soothingly, wishing there was more she could do for him. There was something she had to say, something that Wellard must be assured of. "Henry," she said at last, breaking the lapse of silence, "You did no wrong today; what happened was not your fault."

How was it that she always seemed to know what he was thinking? He had been pondering the reason for the Captain's outbursts. Conspiring against the Captain? Holding mutinous assemblies? He knew the truth: he had done no wrong against the Captain, despite the many hateful and mutinous thoughts that had passed through his mind. Still, the Captain always made certain that he felt guilty, no matter if he was or not. Though the severity of his undeserved punishment did not surprise him, it didn't make the pain any easier to bear.

Since the beginning of his stay on the Renown, he had been subjected to the Captain's way of punishment repeatedly. A few years ago, the Renown had almost undergone a mutiny by a few piratical sailors, and since then, the Captain had become extremely _paranoid_, to put it lightly. Not even Doctor Clive could explain it. All he could do was babble on about how there was nothing wrong with the Captain. His new punishing techniques were unique, that was all. Why was everyone so concerned?

The Captain loved an excuse to beat Wellard, or any disloyal sailor for that matter, and when there was none he made one up, no matter how wild or absurd. He was the Captain of the Renown, and no one dared to get in the way of his command.

One day, the Captain decided to leave the abused boy alone. Whether this was from the particularly strong 'medication' Doctor Clive had prescribed- for it seemed even he had began to weary of the incessant beatings- or just God's divine intervention, none could tell. Perhaps the Captain had moved on to another victim at last- may God have mercy on his soul! Each day that Wellard went without torment from the Captain seemed a miracle. Month after month had come and gone, the Captain not even glancing at Wellard. Until today, Wellard hadn't had to suffer for almost an entire year.

"I know," he finally whispered. Dear Lord, it hurt. Pain was not something to underestimate. Yet somehow, just laying on Lottie's soft lap, her fingers gently caressing his hair, made the situation not seem so horrid. It had been so long since he had someone that cared for him, that would hold him in times like these. Hiding his head in her lap, he took in her sweet scent. To think he had almost forgotten the intensity of the pain the cane's marks left.

He cursed silently as his eyes threatened to spill unwanted tears. _Damn. _He didn't want to cry, especially not in front of Lottie. It would be much easier to cry alone, after everyone was asleep and no one could hear him. Trembling, he bit his lip in an effort to hold back the sob that choked him.

Lottie felt him tense, and she leaned over to murmur in his ear, "_Tears are nothing to be ashamed of_, remember?" If she could cry in front of him, then he could cry in front of her.

Wellard remembered- quite clearly. Tears released themselves from blinking, brown eyes, streaming down his face in ungraceful torrents.

"I suppose this shouldn't surprise me. It's happened many times before," he spoke, swallowing and wiping his eyes fiercely. He was annoyed with himself for showing his usually confined emotions.

Lottie stiffened. It was as she had suspected. She had noticed that none of the crew had been at all startled by the punishment of Wellard. Instead, they seemed to expect its coming, exchanging knowing glances. _That fiend!_

"But it's different this time," he continued, turning his face towards Lottie's. "You're here," he said, lifting a slightly trembling hand to her face. Smiling gently, Lottie covered his hand with her own.

Wellard had always been so lonely aboard the Renown. Though he knew he could rely on lieutenants Kennedy and Hornblower, oftentimes they were too busy to converse with a troubled midshipman. Besides, teen-counseling wasn't really their forte. The other midshipmen had openly refused his friendship, though he couldn't pretend that he had really wanted them as friends anyway.

But now, he had found someone he could trust and love, someone who would listen to him, and even understand. That person was Lottie.

So close they had become, almost inseparable. Something nagged him, deep inside, reminding him of a fact he had long tried to forget. He knew that Lottie wouldn't be around forever; after their voyage to Santa Domingo, she and her companions would be taken to America, or at least to Jamaica, where they would be booked officially as passengers- unlike on the Renown. It filled him with a looming dread when he thought of her leaving him. There was no way to stop its coming.

Unless, of course, they were married. Yes, he had to ask her- beg her- to marry him. Not now, though. No, it wasn't the right time. His eyes were drooping with fatigue and he could barely utter a coherent sentence, much less a decent proposal of marriage. Some other time he would ask her, perhaps tomorrow.

He could feel the laudanum beginning to do its work. Closing his eyes, he grabbed Lottie's hand. "I don't want you to leave, Lottie. I don't want you to go to America. You're such a good friend, you are. Please don't leave me. Never want you to leave me," he mumbled deliriously.

Lottie kissed the top of his head, her face lingering in his hair. "I won't leave you, Henry. I wouldn't dream of it," she told him, though she knew she was making a statement that relied on things out of her control. Her fate relied entirely on the Captain. If she made it to Jamaica, and that was a big _if_, seeing as there was far more to come before they reached it, there would be no delaying her departure to 1800's-style America.

Wellard, seeming satisfied with her answer, let out a content exhale, and began to fall asleep.

Time flew by as Lottie simply sat, running her hand through Wellard's hair and touching his face lovingly. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. It was as if everything was alright with the world; his face was relaxed, his breathing soft and even. However, she knew she couldn't stay here forever. This was no place to spend the night, sitting upright in Wellard's hammock. It would only bring up suspicious questions in the morning. Yet she hated the thought of leaving him alone. Sighing, she leaned against the hammock, feeling her head droop and hand fall wearily from Wellard's face.

Footsteps approached, and Lottie was roused by a gentle hand shaking her shoulder. Archie looked down at her, smiling weakly. "You better get some sleep, Miss," he told her. Lottie was ready to protest, when Archie added, "Don't worry about your Wellard, Miss. I'll look after him." To tired to argue, she gently lifted Wellard's head from her lap and laid it back down on his pillow. He murmured something in his sleep, and a frown crossed his face.

"Sleep now, Herry," soothed Lottie as she planted a final kiss on his brow. Sending Archie a grateful smile, she slowly rose from the hammock and made her way back to her own. As she began to drift off to sleep, something occurred to her. Archie had referred to Henry as _her Wellard_. And had she really just kissed his forehead _in front of Archie_? Oh dear. One could only hope that Archie was not much of a gossip. Anyone who knew Archie, though, knew that was a small hope.

Though Wellard's punishment had ended, Lottie was far from contented. The Captain's behavior would only worsen, of that she was sure. Her prayer was that whatever action planned as a response to the Captain's command would be initiated quickly.

Their journey was far from being over. Quite on the contrary, it had just begun.

**Well, it was long this time, I apologize. Anyways, if you're still reading this, REVIEW! (I used all caps so you would wake up faster). If you don't, I might have to go to drastic measures… **


	9. Caught In A Conundrum

**Here it is, my lovley readers! Make my day and review, bitte!**

_Chapter 8: Caught In A Conundrum_

Wellard woke hesitantly, not wanting to leave his state of unconscious bliss. His mind was at ease and the events of the previous day were momentarily forgotten, lost in the swirl of surreal dreaming. Then suddenly, in a vicious and painful instant, the memories rushed back, causing him to wince. Slowly and arduously he rose from his hammock. Dear Lord, it hurt. The pain had only seemed to accumulate overnight. Stumbling, he tried to prepare for the day. Looking around for his hat, he found it gently set at the foot of his hammock. No doubt that was where Lottie had set it last night.

_Last night. _Contentment filled him as he thought of his head resting in Lottie's lap, softly being stroked till he had fallen asleep. There was one thing that had puzzled him, though. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could distinctly remember Lottie's voice, telling him to sleep, and calling him _Herry_. Though somewhat childish, he had always loved his long-forgotten nickname. Both his late mother and sister had titled him Herry—never once _Henry_ or _Wellard_. Since their deaths, never had anyone else called him by his childhood name; no one knew of it. Perhaps it had only been a dream—he couldn't be sure.

Where was that girl, anyway? Seldom a morning had passed during their voyage without Lottie's cheery, "Good Morning, Wellard!" and her company at breakfast. Even when he was called early in the morning to go on watch (from four to eight, to be exact), Lottie managed to eat with him. He had grown accustomed to her presence. It had almost become ritualistic, her daily greeting. Now her absence made him feel somewhat lonely.

Well, his duties awaited him—he would just have to eat without her, then. It shouldn't be so hard, being alone for such a small period of time. He had eaten his breakfast silently and unaccompanied for years aboard the Renown. Besides, Lottie was perfectly able to eat breakfast with anyone of her choosing, and at any time she wished. It was selfish of him to think he could claim her, for he couldn't—she wasn't his. Rubbing his eyes jadedly, he walked over to what he assumed would be an empty mess table.

The usual black pot of food at the end of the table was not present this morning. Where was it? It was then that he, with a sigh, realized he must have slept later than usual. Perhaps it was the laudanum. Never before had he taken it, he had only heard of its wondrous effect. Usually it was administered by Doctor Clive to help settle the distressed—namely the Captain—or those wounded during battle.

Sighing, he turned to head to the kitchens. If he was lucky, he would be able to get something to eat there. That was, if the cook was in a good mood. His chances were bleak, seeing as the cook was predominantly grumpy most mornings.

"Mr. Wellard, wait!" called out a timid voice. Wellard turned at the sound of his name. Midshipman Johnson held a bowl in his hands, looking ashamed and awkward. Wellard couldn't believe his ears. Johnson had called him by his actual name, instead of the usual 'runt' or simple 'hey you' he had learned to accept. From the bowl arose a thick steam. Johnson held it out hesitantly, as if suddenly shy towards this boy he had forever despised. "Here, take it. I- we saved it for you."

Just as hesitantly, Wellard took the bowl. He couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of prank the others had devised that would result in his embarrassment. Slowly, the other three midshipman came out of the shadows. A deep guilt seemed to fill them, their eyes darting nervously to the floor when Henry looked up at them. What was the matter with them? Usually, if they happened to actually cross his path, they glared at him and looked the other way with disgust. Now, each of them looked up at him, with culpable expressions on their faces.

They had all witnessed the kindness shown by Lottie to their fellow midshipman last night. It had occurred to them that it should have been them, caring for their comrade in a time of distress—not some exhausted damsel. It should have been them, reliving her from her tireless watch over their fellow officer—not their superior, Mr. Kennedy, who had other duties to attend to. No matter how they had tried to convince themselves that she had probably just pitied him and that he deserved his pain for his 'wrong doing', they knew it wasn't the truth. Not once had Wellard deserved a punishment, especially a beating, issued by the Captain, and this time was not an exception. Remorse had filled them. After Lottie had left, they decided that they would have to apologize to Wellard. Once and for all, they had to right their wrongs.

"We've been quite cruel to you, Wellard. Unnecessarily cruel, I won't deny it," started Johnson, loosening his neck scarf nervously.

"And we deeply regret our maliciousness," added Delaney, who never had before spoken to Wellard.

"We don't expect you to forgive us. And I suppose we don't deserve your friendship, either," mumbled Collins, the largest of the five.

"But rest assured, we have put our shamble behavior behind us. We hope you will be able to no longer consider us enemies, but shipmates, and perhaps someday… f- friends," finished Brennan, who was closest to Wellard's age- as he was eighteen and Wellard seventeen.

Wellard didn't know what to say. What could he say? It was true that he wasn't ready to call them friends—at the moment, he wasn't sure if he ever would. He would have to see if their intentions were sincere. However, he knew that he could forgive and forget their wrongs; he wanted it to be over and never mentioned again. Only then could he move on and no longer fear the presence of his fellow midshipmen. The warm bowl he held in his hands felt very heavy all of the sudden.

Finally, he nodded, and managed to say, "Consider yourselves forgiven and your actions forgotten." All four let out relieved exhales. One by one, they shook his hand and departed, leaving him to finish his breakfast. He had better be quick about it, or else he would be late for his watch—which was never excusable. Chuckling at the strange event that had just occurred, he made his way to the table. What an odd morning. Sitting down, he was very quickly reminded of his _dilemma_, as it were, and wondered if it would have been better to eat standing up.

Hurried footsteps approached, and Lottie slid into the seat across from him. "Good morning, Wellard," she said, a bit tiredly. "I'm sorry I'm so terribly late. I forgot that I had promised Tom that I would help him in the kitchens this morning, for making that delightful recipe I requested the other day." Sighing, she reached for his free hand.

Smiling weakly, Wellard gave her hand a short squeeze. His pain was bearable now; after all, _she_ was here now, and that made all the difference. The person she had referred to was the cook, 'Tom' Higgins. Lottie had seemed to have a certain talent when it came to the kitchen. Somehow, she had managed to make the usual burgoo served at breakfast appealing—which was a miracle, in Wellard's opinion. The cook, though usually sour and solitary, had taken to her, as he would have a daughter. Often she had helped with preparing the meals. The crew had greatly appreciated her interference.

The ability to cook was an amiable quality in a future wife. And with this thought, Wellard was reminded to talk to Lottie soon. Perhaps later today, after his tedious studies and duties had ended, and the two could be left alone.

"Hello," he said in reply, gulping down the last spoonful of his breakfast. Slowly, he stood up, as it wasn't easy moving around. Lottie frowned, knowing the reason for his stiffness.

"Oh," she sighed knowingly, and embraced him. Surprised, but nevertheless contented by her forwardness, Wellard wrapped his arms around her, his face buried in her hair. Impulsively, he pressed his lips to her head for a moment before releasing her.

"Lottie?" asked Wellard shyly, remembering something that had been foremost in his thoughts.

"Yes?" she asked.

"For what you did last night—I'm afraid I will never be able to repay such kindness."

"I do not need to be repaid, my friend," she told him modestly.

"And for some reason, I remember vaguely you calling me- Herry," he whispered, closing his eyes. The memory was so faint, it could very possibly have been imagined.

Lottie smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yes, I believe I called you that. It was very late, and just sort of slipped out, you see."

So it had not been a dream. "I was called Herry by my mother and sister, but not since they passed away."

"I'm sorry if I've caused you any grief," Lottie said hurriedly, not wanting to remind Wellard of anything painful. She knew how hard was, having people bring up things that she had tried to forget.

"No, not at all. I actually rather liked it—you calling me Herry," he said, smiling a little, despite the pain that was slowly numbing him.

"I can continue doing so, if you want me to."

"Please do," he said sincerely. It was nice to be reminded of happier, simpler times—when he had a family to care for him and very few concerns of his own.

"Alright then, _Herry_ it is," Lottie said, smiling. Honestly, the nickname 'Herry' had just seemed to fit, as Jim fit for James and Jack fit for John. Never would she have thought it would be such a vital piece of his past. But if it pleased him, she would do it. Anything to get his mind off the events of yesterday.

Amy was having a particularly dull morning. Bored, she had began to wander throughout the passageways and decks of the ship. Repeatedly, she had been warned _not_ to linger in dark places; that way, the protection of her virtue could be secured. To these warnings, Amy had rolled her eyes. Seriously, did she look that weak and defenseless? According to her, her 'virtue' was not in any danger of being tainted in any way. Besides, she was feeling resentful to any authority this morning. The reason being that not only had Wellard been beaten and tormented unnecessarily, but the charges against the fiend Randall for beating Styles into a bloody pulp had been dismissed—all the wonderful Captain's doing, of course.

So, she figured, why not break a few stupid rules?

Smirking, Amy jumped off the ladder, landing lightly on the dark wood below. It was very dimly lit, the hold. Faint shafts of light gleamed through the cracks of the deck. No one else was around to stop her from her exploring. Humming softly under her breath, she began to walk down the passageway.

It was interesting down here, she thought. Interesting and completely harmless, other than the few rats who had stowed away, chewing on whatever edible substances they could find.

Suddenly, an arm swung out from the darkness and grabbed Amy from around the waist. Before she had time to react, a large, dirty hand clamped over her mouth—preventing her from crying out. Swiftly, the man pulled her to him, his hot breath on her neck. Swinging her head around, Amy looked full on into the face of her attacker and felt her blood run cold. It was the gruesome devil Randall—the sailor the girls had all nicknamed "Rat-face", for that was what he most resembled.

"Now we's gonna have a li'l fun, we are. It ain't right, the Cap'n keepin' the women all to hisself," Randall said, his words slurred, undoubtedly from a recent double ration of alcohol, compliments of Captain Sawyer, of course. _Thanks a lot, buddy._

Amy felt very much alone in the world and completely defenseless. Surely he wouldn't dare, she hoped. Surely someone would come before he was able to do anything. The passageway remained eerily empty. Dear Lord, wouldn't anyone come? Somebody _had_ to come. A wave of sheer terror washed over the girl. This could not happen to her; this could not be happening to her. Drunkenly, Randall began to drag her down into the darkness, further into the hold, where no one would be able to save her.

She kicked, protested, bit hard down on his disgusting dirty fingers, but the man would just not _give_. Terrified, her efforts became more panicked as she struggled against her attacker's grip. There was no escape route, no savior—nothing.

"Let go of that girl this instant Randall, or I swear to God, I will shoot you," said a low and intimidating voice. Slowly, the barrel of a gun emerged into a shaft of light. Randall slowly released Amy, who bolted from his arms and to her rescuer. She wondered who had been her divine savior. Was it Horatio? Or perhaps Archie? Coming closer to him, she gasped as she looked into the eyes of none other than her chief nemesis, William Bush. "This will not be forgotten, sailor. Now get out!" He said, swerving his gun to the exit. Randall did not argue. For once, he was intimated, and obeyed his superior.

In silence, Bush and Amy walked up onto the second, deserted deck of the Renown. Bush was fuming. This girl's incompetence had nearly gotten her, well, bluntly stated, raped. It had been his greatest fear that if she kept up her careless coquetry, soon one of the crew would become daring enough to try and have their way with her. That daring sailor had almost succeeded. A part of Bush wanted desperately not to be so concerned; after all, it was her own fault, she had it coming to her. Yet for some reason he could not explain, he felt compelled to protect this insolent girl who despised him. One thing was for certain. Her childish ways could _not_ continue. Graciously, the attack on her maidenhood had been stopped- but only this time. Surely Randall would only be one of many to pursue her, after being at sea for so long, the men were beginning to feel more desperate.

Amy had seemed to compose herself. She hesitated, wanting to break the awkward silence but unsure of what to say. "The nerve of that man!" she began, trying to sound calm, "How could he ever think that-

Bush had tired of her denial to her self-destructive behavior once and for all. He whirled around to face her and shouted, "Well of course he bloody well thought you would go with him easily. You've only led on half the crew with your free kisses and amorous glances! This was only brought upon you by yourself. Don't you see? You must stop these silly games, before something really happens to you, and no one is around to save you."

Amy, for once, had nothing to say—no witty retort, no sarcastic comment. She could only stare, slowly realizing the harsh truth of his words. It _was_ true that she had been rather carefree as of late, and she had been quite generous in giving away her kisses. Surely that hadn't convinced the crew that she was just waiting for one of them to take her?

Determinedly, she tried to convince herself that Bush was only saying these things to be cruel when she was vulnerable. But no longer could she deny the cruel truth he spoke. She never should have toyed with the crew's affections, she should have been a good girl and stayed up on deck like Lottie and Cat. Maybe even latched on to one officer in particular, securing her safety. Yet she found it so hard to be serious; flirting was one thing that brought attention to herself, and she liked it. In her own time, men reacted to it in a positive way, and nothing bad ever came from it—other than broken hearts. Though, if men in this time thought that flirtatious was the equivalent of _licentiousness_, flirting was something she would have to stop.

For the first time that Amy could remember, a deep red spread onto her cheeks. Whether this new color was from shame, anger, or embarrassment, Bush wasn't able to tell. Perhaps he had been too harsh. He began to regret his tone; he hadn't meant to sound so angry. After all, she had just gone through a traumatic experience, one that she had thought would never happen to her. "Miss," he began, ready to apologize.

"No," said Amy, cutting him off. She held up a firm hand, as if this gesture would make him incapable of speech. Through gritted teeth she commanded, "Don't. Say. Anything." With those words, she walked down to the Midshipman's Berth, feeling tears spring into her eyes. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Certainly he didn't care for her feelings, or about what had almost happened to her. No, all he cared about was her lack of seriousness and lack of respect. All he had wanted to accomplish was tormenting her; he probably hadn't even known how deep his words would cut into her.

Amy was very, very wrong in her thinking.

Bush watched her go, unsure of whether to follow her or not. He wasn't _really_ angry with her; he was angry with Randall, the Captain, and in some ways, himself. For once, he had not meant to upset her—truly, he had not. It pained him to see her walk away, fighting back obvious tears and trembling. He wanted to go after her, but he knew that was not a wise idea. As much as he tried, he couldn't deny that he cared for her well being—even if he did find her extremely aggravating at times. He wanted not to care, to let her carry on her irresponsible airs and play with the crew's affections. That, he found, was impossible.

Later that night, Cat sat the wooden bench in the deserted wardroom. The wardroom had been offered as a room for the girls to relax in, and Cat had taken up that offer often. She was acutely aware that it was getting considerably late out, but for some reason, she felt as if she were on hyper-alert mode; she felt too tense to draw comfortably—she had tried, but her lines kept coming out harsh—but a sense of apprehension seemed to hold her still. It was annoying, this feeling that consumed her. She couldn't think of anything that had happened in the past few hours that would cause anxiety to knot in her inside her—or maybe that was just it. _Great. _Now she had the nagging feeling that she was missing something important.

A soft knock on one of the walls jerked her out of her musing. Her neck snapped up as she raised her gaze to the source of the noise. Behind the partially ajar door stood Archie, his knuckles raised to the wood and a vaguely amused expression on his face. "Sorry; I didn't mean to startle you." He motioned to the bench she was propped up against. "May I?"

"Oh, of course." Cat scooted over slightly, letting him join her on the weathered, wooden surface.

"I hear you had a celebratory event yesterday and didn't even mention it to me." The half-grin on his face was almost irresistible, but Cat couldn't quite bring herself to smile along. _My birthday._ She thought miserably. The pang of sadness that accompanied the thought was more for the sake of her family having to spend the day without her, rather than for herself. Actually, Amy and Lottie had managed to make the day feel special—even out in the middle of the ocean, on one the most chaotic days of the journey. After Lottie had returned from seeing to Wellard, and had been teased quite thoroughly by her comrades, the three stayed up late, despite their tiredness. Each reflected on memories of their former lives, specifically birthday parties and presents. Cat hadn't told anyone about it though. After all, who would care out here?

"How did you find out?" she asked, merely for distraction from her somewhat troubling thoughts—she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"You're not the only person on board who knows that particular date." He shifted, and started to look a slightly apologetic. "In fact, I'm afraid that it wasn't thoroughly celebrated."

"What makes you think that?" Cat smiled at his concern, and tucked her knees beneath her, allowing herself to lean on Archie's shoulder. Archie immediately lost his train of thought. The trusting gesture was enough to send warm feeling of protectiveness for her rolling through him. He had to pause a moment to catch his breath, and decided to change the subject.

"Well, I'm sure you heard about Styles," he began. If she _hadn't_ heard about it, he certainly wasn't going to be the one to go into the ugly details. Then again, not much remained secret around this ship.

"I didn't just hear about it—I had to watch the poor man limp around the deck all day." Her subdued voice contained a mixture of pity and distaste; the latter causing that shielding reaction to surface again. She shouldn't have to experience the rougher aspects of life at sea. He reached down and, as a reassuring and surprisingly natural reaction, clasped her hand. Her tone seemed to lift slightly. "I also had to hear about the Captain's lecture this morning, which I conveniently avoided. I most likely would have spouted my opinions rather strongly, had I attended."

Archie smirked bitterly. "I had to do that myself—try and keep my thoughts and emotions hidden." As he always did when the subject of the Captain came up, he started to feel a heat slowly rising in him and immediately tried to push it back down; he didn't want to be complaining around Cat whenever she spoke to him. As he started to speak again, Cat could feel a nervous excitement begin to emanate from him.

"I'm not the only one who is getting rather tired of it," his voice lowed involuntarily. "The others, Horatio and Buckland that is, and I are having a meeting of sorts. Needless to say, secretly." He was slightly reluctant to tell even her the particulars of this conference; no matter how much he trusted her, it was instinct not to reveal anything so treacherous.

Cat nodded slowly. Thoughts were tumbling around in her head riotously. Suddenly she knew what he meant. It was tonight. That meant that—

Both of them were startled from their thoughts when someone cleared their throat. Cat glanced up to see Mr. Buckland standing there in the doorway, shifting on his feet nervously. "Now, Mr. Kennedy?" His voice sounded higher and more shrill than usual. Beside her, Archie nodded discretely.

"I'll be right with you." He looked down and gave Cat a soft smile, squeezing her hand ever so lightly. "You stay here," he told her firmly as Cat began to rise from the bench. He stood and left, following Buckland. Cat stood also, reluctantly staying behind to watch until he disappeared from her sight.

A numb sensation filled the region where her head had been formerly. Comprehending the event that was about to happen seemed too much to ask while she was also feeling elation at the sensation in her hand. Clasping her hands worriedly, she sat down quietly, waiting anxiously for their return.

A while later, the door of the wardroom opened, and Mr. Bush entered, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Seeing Cat, he greeted her, "Miss Hampton, what are you dong in here at such an hour, and alone besides?"

Cat didn't know how to answer. The truth was that she was waiting for Archie to come back and tell her their mission had been accomplished. He hadn't let her come along of course—he feared for her involvement with such an illegal act.

Bush searched her eyes, his own glimmering with an alarming suspicion. After a moment, his eyes lit up with realization. "They've gone, haven't they?" he said, taking a lit lantern from the table, "That's where they are!" Cat stood, her face fearful as he turned to leave.

"I beg you sir, for the lives aboard this ship, don't report them," she implored him. If they were found out, all would be lost for nothing.

Bush turned to her, smiling weakly. "My dear Miss Hampton, I do not intend to report them. I plan to join them."

Cat sighed, relieved. "Then take me with you, please."

Bush nodded. "Let's be quick about it. I doubt there is much time left before their absence is noticed."

Meanwhile, Wellard paced back on forth on Mr. Hornblower's watch nervously. The Captain, as part of Horatio's punishment for speaking up for Wellard, had issued him on continuous watch for the next thirty six hours. The lieutenant had been able to stay awake, though how much longer he would be able to go without rest was questionable. Archie had tried to help his friend all that he could, staying up past his watch to talk to Horatio as long as he was able. Buckland's only suggestion was that Horatio endure his punishment and then they would hear no more about it. _Not bloody likely_, was Wellard's sullen thought.

The lieutenants had began to become wary of the Captain—he was very paranoid these days. On several recent occasions he had accused his officers of conspiring against him, all which he had no proof of. Just that morning, after Randall's charges had been dismissed, the Captain had claimed that lieutenants Hornblower, Kennedy and Buckland had been holding a mutinous assembly and that Wellard, of course, had been keeping watch for them. This was impossible, as Wellard had been busy on the opposite side of the ship, being taught by Mr. Bush. It was only by God's grace that Wellard was not beaten again. However, Horatio's punishment was furthered to stand watch for another thirty six hours. How he would be able to survive this torture, Wellard did not know. So far, the lieutenants had managed not to give the Captain an excuse to lock them up below for mutiny, but their tolerance of the Captain's command was shortening rapidly.

That was why they had decided that it was critical to discuss their options. This discussion would be held in secret and would exclude Mr. Bush, as he was the Captain's favorite officer and couldn't be trusted. Something, after all, had to be done—they couldn't deny that. Yes, of course Wellard knew about the meeting. He didn't even have to hear the confirmation from Archie; the uneasy and foreboding look in his officer's eyes told him everything. Wellard's task had been to confirm its happening to Horatio, and stand as officer of the watch in his stead, giving excuses for his absence as necessary.

Cautiously, he had approached Horatio, who formerly had been quietly talking to the Bosun, Matthews. Horatio had stood, searching the midshipman's eyes suspiciously. "Do you understand your duty, Mr. Wellard?" he had asked, and Wellard had smiled ironically.

"I do sir," he had told him as he tipped his hat respectfully. "Good luck." _You'll need it_, he had added silently. At the boy's confirmation, the lieutenant wasted no time in finding his fellow officers, who sat hidden away in the hold, waiting for him to join their secret, mutinous gathering.

Now, Wellard stood silently, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, looking perturbedly out across the dark waves of the ocean. A lively tune sounded from below decks, where rum-happy, care-free sailors danced the night away. The crew had been issued yet another double ration of their liquor, hence their rowdy spirits. Though their celebration was loud and somewhat obnoxious, it made it harder for people to overhear conversations—that was one small blessing.

It was a very tricky situation the Renown's officers were in. A third of the crew at most was on their side, so to speak. But without the Doctor's approval, the Captain could not be rightfully removed from his position. Secretly, Wellard was glad he was not joining the lieutenants in their debate. Their options were few, and time was running out. Santa Domingo was only about a week's sail away, and their attack against the Spanish would undoubtedly fail with the Captain commanding as he did.

Briskly, Lottie walked up behind Wellard. Anticipation filled her. Something was going to happen tonight, she could feel it. An excited, yet frightening buzz seemed to fill the air, despite the spirited crew. It had not been long since Cat had run up to her, looked her firmly in the eye and stated, "Tonight. It's happening tonight." The hidden meaning behind her statement was immediately interpreted by Lottie to mean that the lieutenants would gather tonight—and perhaps the act of black, bloody mutiny would finally be committed.

Wellard heard someone approach. Turning, he saw Lottie, looking both apprehensive and exhilarated. Did she know of it as well? The knowing flash of her eyes assured him she did. A sudden fear crossed his mind. What if they were discovered? Hobbs constant presence was a horrid reminder that nothing said or done was without the Captain's knowledge. It was a definite possibility that this little 'meeting' would be reported. If not by Hobbs, then perhaps by a defiant Bush would the Captain be informed of his missing lieutenants. Though in Wellard's opinion, Bush would have to be blind or in utter denial to _not_ have noticed the failing state of the Captain's mind. Therefore, announcing a mutinous assembly would not be beneficial to his, or anyone else's, situation.

"Lottie," he murmured as she walked up to him, her head bowed nervously. Calmly, he tipped her head up to face him. A worried frown crossed her face, and he knew what she was thinking. It seemed as though he was not the only one who feared for the lieutenants. There were so many things he wanted to say, but were better left unsaid. There were marines and sailors about, eager to eavesdrop on conversations more interesting than their own. However, it was impossible for him to remain completely silent. Leaning down, he wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger absent-mindedly. "Don't worry," he whispered, and Lottie took his words to heart. Then, releasing her hair from his grasp he said, for the few nosy sailors lounging around, rather than for Lottie, "Stay here with me. I don't want you going below decks with such soused bunch."

Recognizing the hidden message behind his warning, she smiled and asked playfully, "You don't trust me to stay out of trouble?"

"It is not you whom I don't trust," he replied, playing along. One of the sailors near them let out an amused grunt.

Lottie sighed dramatically and leaned against the railing of the ship. Unable to think of anything witty with her thoughts weighing so heavily upon her, she replied, "Fair enough." Hurriedly she glanced at the stairs leading to the lower deck. So far, so good. One could only hope that their luck would hold.

Amy hurried frantically up on deck. Hobbs had observed Horatio's absence, as well as that the other lieutenants were not to be found in the wardroom or on watch. Though he had only noticed that four officers were missing, there was no doubt in his mind that Wellard had _something_ to do with it. That boy was mighty suspicious. So were those three freeloader ladies.

Hastily, Hobbs had knocked on the Captain's door to inform him of the conspirators. Amy had tried desperately to delay him, but, to no avail. Not only had the Captain been notified, but the Marine Sergeant had been frantically called to find the guilty party. Now the whole Marine Guard had been sent out, searching for the mutineers. Someone had to warn them!

Wellard and Lottie turned at the sound of pounding footsteps. A breathless Amy emerged from below decks. The worry in her eyes told Wellard that his fears had been confirmed. The lieutenants had been found out. More footsteps thumped against the stairs, announcing the arrival of none other than Hobbs.

"Go!" Amy mouthed urgently to her friends, who instantly disappeared into the shadows.

"Something the matter, Mr. Hobbs?" asked Amy nonchalantly, as if she had been on deck the entire evening. Her flushed face and mussed hair told him otherwise. Hobbs scowled. No doubt she had something to do with the mutineers as well. However, Mr. Wellard wasn't within sight; he must be hiding out somewhere else. Quickly he tromped back down the set of stairs, muttering curses under his breath. Amy let out a sigh of relief.

Carefully, Wellard and Lottie came out from the shadows. Immediately, Wellard turned to go down below deck, intent on finding his senior officers before the Marines did. Lottie began to follow him, only to be stopped by a warning hand on her arm. "No," Wellard said firmly. He didn't want her to become tangled in this situation any more than she already was.

Lottie stared at him incredulously. "I'm coming with you," she insisted.

Amy gave an amused giggle, despite the intensity of their situation. "You better let her tag along, Wellard. She'll never stay put."

Wellard let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright, but stay close to me." Reluctantly, he grabbed Lottie's hand and pulled her down the stairs with him.

Amy just smiled and shook her head as she followed them quietly. There was no way that she was going to miss out on something _this_ exciting.

Cat sat perfectly still in the blanket of darkness, listening attentively for sound of approaching intruders. The lieutenants had not been pleased to see her arrive with Mr. Bush. Indeed, they had been quite grumpy. Several times they had tried to get her to leave, wanting to include as few people as possible in their act—lest they be found out. Still, Cat had stubbornly refused to budge, and the lieutenants were forced to let her stay. Satisfied, Cat had politely withdrawn into the shadows to let them discuss mutiny at will, for they seemed to be more at ease when she wasn't around. Instead of eavesdropping, she now kept watch for any unwelcome persons.

All of the sudden, Cat heard the familiar, reoccurring thumps as feet hit the floor of the hold. Hastily she turned to the lieutenants, busy in their heated debate, and whispered a frantic, "Someone's coming!" The lieutenants reacted at once, diving, tripping and stumbling over one another in their attempt to hide themselves.

As soon as the people—for it had been determined that more than one person walked towards their hiding spot—came close enough, the lieutenants leapt from the darkened hold, grabbing the intruders by their wrists. Moments later they were released, as Horatio discovered the identity of the figures was none other than Wellard and Lottie, who were now thoroughly rumpled.

"Dear God, does the whole ship have to be involved?" exclaimed Buckland grumpily as he tried to get up off of the floor without much success. Maybe he should lay off the black-pudding for a while.

Breathlessly, Wellard announced that the Captain had turned out the Marine Guard and was now searching avidly for the mutineers, namely, the lieutenants. At once the group divided themselves, Horatio going one way with Wellard and Lottie, Archie, Bush, Buckland and Cat going another. And so the chase throughout the interior of the ship began.

Slowly the conspirators made there way through the long and winding hold until at last reaching the hatch and ladder that would lead them out. Along the way they had narrowly evaded discovery by making clumsy noises and therefore alerting an dutiful Hobbs. Somehow, the two groups had managed to join one another along the way, and now breathed sighs of relief that no one, so far, had been captured. Amy had, at this time, walked up behind them unnoticed, having enjoyed watching random Marines and sailors scurry this way and that, hopelessly trying to find the suspicious persons.

"Alright," began Horatio softly, glancing down at the open hatch on the floor from which they had emerged. "Mr. Bush, Mr. Buckland, Archie- make your way back towards the wardroom, and take Miss Hampton with you." Nodding in agreement, the lieutenants made their leave, Archie gently taking Cat's hand in his. "Mr. Wellard, please escort Miss O'Hara back to the Mid-

Rapid footsteps approached and Horatio swore under his breath. The remaining few dispersed, Archie quickly leading Cat through a slightly ajar door, Amy ducking behind a row of large barrels and Horatio hiding in the dark shadow cast by a nearby lantern. Wellard shoved Lottie farther along the gun deck, and held her close to him, wrapping them both in darkness.

Four Marines filed in, followed by the nervous Captain. The Marines then climbed down into the open hatch, using the ladder that jutted out from its side. The Captain peered warily down at the hatch that led to the third gun deck. At this moment, Amy could know longer hold in her sneeze, for the barrel she hid behind was covered in a thick layer of dust which she could not help but breath in. She sniffed, as quietly as she could manage—but not quietly enough. The Captain whirled around, swinging his pistols at his surroundings. Someone was there; waiting for him! Oh, where were his men, his true men?

Slowly, Archie stepped out from behind the door, walking towards the Captain. The Captain, alarmed, began to walk backwards unknowingly close to the hatch. "Sir," began Archie cautiously as Horatio and Wellard emerged from their hiding places. The Captain now stood on the very edge of the hatch, dangerously close to falling off it. "Sir," Archie started again, holding out his arm to the Captain. Suddenly, the Captain took another step backwards, causing him to lose his balance and fall down into the hold. The officers reached out their arms in a belated attempt to stop their Captain's fall, but to no avail.

Three pairs of female eyes watched in horror as the Captain fell down into the hold. Two gunshots sounded as both his pistols were fired when they hit the floor. Upon hearing the shots, Officers and Marines came running at once, only to find their Captain unconscious in the hold. The girls finally came out from their hiding places, not knowing how to react. Both Buckland and Bush appeared from the top deck and immediately climbed down the ladder to see the source of the commotion. Bush stared, unnerved at the sight before him. Turning to Horatio, he asked, "What happened down here, Mr. Hornblower?"

"It appears the Captain fell, sir."

At his answer, Bush gave Horatio a suspicious look. Lottie resented his suspicion. The Captain fell. That was all there was to it.

Later, after the Captain had at last been removed to his cabin to be inspected by Dr. Clive, Archie, Horatio, Bush and the girls walked wearily up on deck. Unspoken concerns filled each of them. What would happen if the Captain woke up, screaming that mutiny had occurred? Sighing, Lottie leaned jadedly against Wellard, thoroughly tired. Wellard put a comforting arm around her, patting her shoulder consolingly. "Well," she announced to her companions after a moment, "I am exhausted and am now going to go to sleep. Goodnight, all." Leaving to a chorus of "Goodnight, Lottie" and "Sleep well", she then turned to walk down the stairs.

Someone prodded Wellard towards her. Turning, he saw Archie with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Go with her, lover-boy! Now's your chance," he whispered, making Wellard blush.

Blast him! He never seemed to lose his smile or suggestions. How was it that Archie could always tell what he was thinking?

Lottie walked quickly to the curtain, pulling it closed behind her. The other midshipmen talked in hushed whispers around the mess table, no doubt lost in their own world of discussing the puzzling events of the night. Slowly she sank down onto her hammock, her hands quivering. It made her feel sick inside, watching the Captain fall helplessly backwards, despite how much she loathed the man. What would happen to them now? Though she had seen the movies more times than she could count, it was as if her memory of their events was slowly slipping away from her until it wasn't there at all.

Swift and familiar footsteps approached the curtain, stopping just outside. "Lottie?" a voice that could only belong to Wellard, asked tensely.

Lottie pulled back the curtain and allowed Wellard to step inside into her dimly-lit and quiet sanctuary. "May I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, biting his lip uncertainly, and Lottie cocked an eyebrow.

Whatever was the matter with this boy? The worried look on his face was oddly familiar. Realization dawned on her. It was the same frown and furrowed brow that he had plastered on his face only yesterday morning. Though it seemed like it had happened ages ago, his manner was still fresh in her mind.

"Of course. Is something bothering you?" she asked.

Well, it was now or never—he had Mr. Kennedy to thank for that. Even now, he was probably up on deck snickering about his cleverness.

"What happened tonight," Lottie started hesitantly, but Wellard stopped her.

"No, it's not that," he sighed and rubbed his forehead. He could only pray that this wasn't too terribly awkward. "Do you happen to recall the other day when in the midst of our conversation, we were interrupted and I promised to finish my thoughts later?"

Lottie remembered quite clearly. So eagerly she had awaited for him to tell her whatever he should have so long ago. When the course of nature had interrupted him, it was vastly disappointing. But really, compared to everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, the occurrence mattered very little.

"Is now, later?" she asked playfully.

He paused before saying, "If you wish."

"I wish," she said smiling, and waited expectantly.

Wellard hesitated once again, and then taking Lottie's hands, he began his much-rehearsed confession. "Lottie, I can no longer keep what I feel inside secret. I have fallen in love with you. I know that I have little to offer in ways of a future, as I have neither fortune nor family, but it would make me more happy then I could have ever hoped to be if you would consent to marry me. Whether you deny or accept me, it is my sincere hope that our friendship will not be dampened by my forwardness."

Lottie was speechless. Never before in her life had she felt so joyous. He loved and wanted to marry _her_, not Amy, not Cat, not some girl far away in England—her_._ If she had still been the same silly girl she had been before entering the world of Horatio Hornblower, she wouldn't have even considered marrying so young, and would have laughed at such a proposition. However, a lot of things had changed since then- her set of mind, for one. Many people married young in this time, as it was fairly normal and almost always critical for success in life. Rapidly she was beginning to realize that it would be nearly impossible for her to survive alone in the world of 1801, especially as a penniless orphan girl. It was necessary for her to find someway of income and support—something oftentimes only a husband could provide in times as these. Not only would marrying Wellard bring her an lifetime of ecstasy, it would also enable her to survive in this world. So what if he had no fortune or family? Neither did she anymore, and she had never minded working, or being poor for that matter.

"Herry," she breathed at last, "I've loved you for so long, but I dared not hope that you felt the same. It does not matter to me of your lack of family or fortune; I much rather marry for love than money. I fear I don't deserve such a generous offer, but if you are willing to take me, then let us marry as soon as we are able."

Wellard smiled, both relieved and elated. Hesitantly, he brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, leaning in closer. "You're beautiful," he finally whispered, his lips hovering above hers. Slowly and shyly, their lips met, sealing their first kiss.

Yawning, Cat and Amy walked sleepily into the Midshipman's Berth. Both were exhausted and had decided to join Lottie in her slumber. Suddenly, Cat stopped in front of Amy, causing them both to trip over each other. "What?" asked Amy, annoyed and nursing her now bruised elbow.

"Shh!" Cat hushed her, pointing underneath their curtain. Two pairs of feet faced each other, revealing that neither Lottie nor Wellard was asleep. Exchanging surprised glances that slowly morphed into knowing smirks, the two began to awkwardly retrace their steps out of the Beth. Clumsily, Amy ended up walking into the wall, making a very audible thump. They froze.

Wellard pulled away from Lottie, startled by the noise. "What was that?" he asked quietly, but Lottie only giggled.

"Nothing, Herry. Now one more little kiss for the night, please?" she asked capriciously. Smiling, Wellard leaned down to once more to press his lips against hers for a moment before pulling away and drawing her to his chest. The two stood, locked in an embrace, wishing that this moment of happy solitude would last forever.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he had done something right. Everything didn't seem so horrible when he was holding Lottie like this—feeling the warmth of her body and the even rise and fall of her chest against his own. And somehow, he felt assured that everything would end well, no matter if the Captain recovered from his fall or not. He recalled a phrase his mother had quoted on her deathbed; only now had he come to realize the truth of its words. _Love never fails._

**Heh. :] I admit, I got warm fuzzies writing that. *looks at clock and groans* Ok, now I _really_ need some sleep. **


	10. Here We Go Again

**I know, it's been für immer since I've updated… shame has been heaped upon me. But for today, remember that in this moment, life is good. The sun is out, (at least where I am) and I have finally finished this chapter! HA! **

Mucho Importantness: **This is the last chapter that takes place during the movie, Mutiny- the first half of the Renown's tale. Thus, it's half way over! (Hopefully there are more of you crying with sadness than with joy…) So without further ado, here is the last part of Mutiny. Enjoy! Oh, and please review, as reviews give me more joy than I already have. :D **

_Chapter 9: Here We Go Again…_

The week had gone by rapidly. The crew had went about their duties and the Captain had continued to slowly recuperate from his trauma. The Doctor, after much pleading from the lieutenants, had decided the Captain was unfit for command—temporarily. He couldn't seem to bring himself to admit the fragility of his friend's mind. Regardless of his duty towards the ship, he forever would remain loyal to his longtime friend James Sawyer, even if the man _was_ insane. However, Clive had come to realize that it was crucial that someone take over in the Captain's stead—even if it was that bumbling idiot, Buckland.

As soon as the words had left the Doctor's mouth, the new acting Captain—former first lieutenant Buckland—and the other lieutenants had begun preparing the drunken, lazy crew of the Renown for battle. In just a few days, the Renown would reach the coast of Santa Domingo, where they were sure to have action. It was critical for the Renown to be able to retaliate accordingly.

For the last few days, the guns of the Renown had been firing incessantly. Thankfully, Horatio had been able to sleep through several watches and regain the sleep he had lost during the many hours he had stood watch. The crew's speed with the guns had greatly improved and the morale of the ship had risen, save for that of the three female passengers—who had been forced to stay below during the exercises.

For the moment, it seemed that the crew had finally been given a break. Puzzled at sudden expanse of silence, Amy sat up. Cautiously, she swung out of her hammock, just waiting for the cracking and booming to resume, sending her back into her bunk with her pillow pressed over her ears. She waited a few minutes; still, there was no sound. Had they finally stopped? It appeared so.

The day so far had been grueling. Though the girls had tried to help with the preparation for battle in any way they could, the lieutenants had made it quite clear that their presence was only a distraction, both towards the men as well as themselves. Sulkily, the three had withdrawn to the Midshipman's Berth, plugging their ears with cloth in an attempt to save their already severed hearing they had acquired after regularly attending rock concerts in America.

Lottie looked up from what she was reading, a book discussing nautical terms and various other information of life aboard ship. Though Cat had found it thoroughly uninteresting, Lottie had always loved anything to do with the navy—especially in the 1800's. It almost saddened her to put her book down, as she had always enjoyed getting lost in a world all her own. However, it seemed as though the cannons had finally stopped their never-ending fire, and she was free to move about the ship at will. Besides, her banishment to the lower decks had kept her from the company of her newly betrothed. The sooner she could get back to him, the happier she would be.

Cat rolled out of her hammock sleepily, as she had just awoken from her nap. Amy arched an eyebrow disbelievingly at her friend. It never ceased to amaze her that no matter what the commotion, Cat could sleep through it. Often, Amy had teased her that the world could end while they were sleeping and Cat would still not wake up.

One thing was for sure: Cat felt entirely disgusting. Her hair was beyond dirty; it had to have been at least five months since she had been able to wash herself. That thought made her want to squirm. At this point, it no longer mattered to her if she had to use sea water, as long as she had soap!

"Have they stopped, then?" asked Lottie, once her friends had emerged from behind the curtain.

"It seems that way," said Amy, not at all disappointed.

"Girls," yawned Cat, stretching her arms above her head. "I think we should request a bath."

Lottie and Amy looked at each other and laughed. "A bath? Won't that be kind of awkward?" asked Amy, giggling.

Cat blushed. "We could use the wardroom."

Lottie nodded in agreement. "A bath would be lovely."

So it was decided. Three demanding girls marched up to Buckland, who was strolling around the quarter deck, admiring the new sharpness of 'his' crew. A bath was politely requested, and was met with much stammering and confusion. The girls pressed firmly and at last, the acting Captain was broken. Tubs were filled with sea water, towels and cakes of soap were fetched and the wardroom was cleared of the remaining lieutenants to give the girls privacy.

Satisfied, the three began to wash and indulge in what they had been denied for so long. Hair was lathered in soap, rinsed and combed—all the while the three humming cheerily without a care in the world. An hour later, three bathed girls emerged from the wardroom, content now that they had been rid of all dirt and dust.

Up on deck, the tired lieutenants stood about the quarterdeck, exhausted after the rigorous morning. Bush leaned heavily against the railing, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Behind him, Amy approached hesitantly, contemplating the idea of talking to him. For most of the week she had been avoiding him, feeling a mild anxiousness rise in her chest whenever she saw him. She knew she couldn't just leave it alone. Even if he had only scolded her to hurt her, rather than for her benefit, she felt compelled to express her gratitude for what he had done. After all, had he not been there to save her, she would have been consumed by the fiend Randall.

Never before had she felt so awkward; for the first time that she could remember, she felt shy. Maybe this was because for the past several months, all she had tried to do was irritate this man, whereas now she wanted to attempt a civil conversation, and perhaps, make peace. It was crazy—even she did not believe what she felt.

"Mr. Bush," she began tentatively.

Bush turned and was surprised to see Amy, the girl that, for most of the journey, had been his enemy. The usual fire in her eyes was absent. Instead, her eyes were now filled with an emotion he had never seen in her before—humility. He hadn't seen much of her since their heated conversation in the hold. Guilt nagged at him for being so harsh with her after such a traumatic experience. He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what he would say. All he knew was that he had to say something.

"Wait," said Amy, keeping Bush from speaking. "I have something to say," she said, biting her lip nervously. "I've been thinking about what you said, and you—you are," she sighed, internally conflicted, "You're right. And I want to thank you for saving me. I could never repay you. I know we have never been on peaceful terms, and I don't deny the blame I deserve. But I would like to put that behind us, and settle our differences."

Bush was shocked. Of all the things he had expected her to say, that had not been one of them. How was he supposed to respond? He was very glad he had been there to rescue her; no matter how awful her company usually was, no one deserved such a fate.

"I dealt with you quite harshly before, and for that I apologize. I…" he did not know what else to say. "I hope you will be able forgive me for my cruelty."

Amy smiled, relieved, and bowed her head. When she looked up again, the playful light was back in her eyes. "Friends?"

Bush smiled, the first real smile he had ever given her. "Friends."

Lottie skipped merrily up on deck, her damp hair blowing freely in the wind. Now that she had been released from her prison, also known affectionately as the Middy's Berth, she had taken advantage of her freedom. It was much better to be up on deck. With the warm breeze, the sunshine and the saltwater spray, life was simply brighter. Below decks, it was dark and somewhat unnerving, especially if you wandered alone. Wellard stood near the side of the ship, looking calmly out across the sea. Lottie pranced over to him, eager to be reunited with her beloved.

Across the deck, Buckland approached Horatio, who was leaning heavily against the rail of the poop deck. Horatio was tired and grimy. Perhaps the girls had been right in their earlier thinking. There was really only one thing he wanted—a bath.

Buckland was a little annoyed by his officer's request; it seemed like the only thing he had gotten to do as a 'Captain' thus far was give people permission to wash themselves. Nevertheless, he granted the officer permission and sailors were fetched to command the contraption that would spray Horatio.

Buckland hurried off to make sure that the females were secured below decks, as he wanted no peeping Toms—er, Amys. "Misses," he told them, "You must get below. You will be told when you can come up again."

"Why?" sputtered Amy, unwilling to leave the company of her newfound friend, William Bush. Lottie and Cat exchanged looks. Their moment of sunshine and good company had been much too short.

"It seems the Renown has been turned into a public bathhouse," he grumbled under his breath, and then explained, "Mr. Hornblower has requested a, erm… washing," Buckland stated, somewhat awkwardly.

Lottie sighed. It would have been nice to spend the afternoon out in the fresh air, and now it seemed impossible to do so. Amy too, wouldn't have minded staying up on deck. Rebelliously, she watched as Horatio descended into the hatchway and the hose was uncoiled.

"Ahem," coughed Bush, who led Amy away from the view of the soon-to-be-bathed lieutenant. She pouted devilishly, as if she was disappointed, and was led away to the Midshipman's Berth.

Archie looked at Cat apologetically and offered his arm to her.

"Hey," she said in response, pointing a finger stubbornly at him, "If I'm going down, your riding shotgun." Archie cocked his head, confused. Cat sighed, remembering how few phrases she knew made sense to her nineteenth-century friend. "Never mind. You're coming with me." The twosome exited the quarterdeck, arm in arm.

Once below, Cat smiled ruefully up at him. "Sorry if I sounded petulant, but I _refuse_ to spend one more moment alone down here." She cut him off the instant he looked as if he were going try to dissuade her. "And, no, all that time before does _not_ count—how am I supposed to converse with Lottie and Amy when I can't even hear myself think?" She smirked triumphantly.

Archie couldn't hold in the laughter that bubbled over; after feeling stressed and drained from the day's events, it felt too good just to laugh out loud. Cat tried to suppress his contagious laughter. "I'm serious!" she protested, not sounding serious in the least. Still smiling, she slid her hand from its place on his arm down to his hand, and entwined her fingers with his. Life below wasn't so bad—when you were with Archie Kennedy.

Meanwhile, Lottie and Wellard wandered aimlessly through the passageways. The couple was holding hands and climbing from deck to deck, laughing and talking without a care in the world. However, both were somewhat wary, even though the Captain laid unconscious in his cabin. No matter if he was there or not, his image was always present, haunting them.

Slowly they emerged onto the upper gun deck, coming closer and closer to the sunlight streaming in from the doorway that led onto the main deck. Here, Lottie broke away from Wellard and walked into the sunlight, dangerously close to the area of which her presence was, for the moment, not permissible.

Wellard tensed, ready to stop her if she went out any farther. She turned around, smirking. "Relax, Wellard. I'm just testing my boundaries," she said, sticking her tongue out. Wellard smiled, knowing how badly Lottie longed to be out in the sunshine. Glumly, Lottie walked back into the dimly lit gun deck. She leaned back against the wall and sighed, defeated. "Besides, I'm a _good_ girl."

Wellard laughed. "No, you're _my_ girl," he said cleverly, caressing her cheek fondly. Lottie smiled. Then, giggling mischievously, she began to back away into the shadows.

Wellard cocked an eyebrow quizzically. Whatever was she doing? His question was soon answered as Lottie sprinted away. Grinning at her silliness, he chased after her. Though Lottie had never been a fast runner, she had been an excellent player of hide-and-go-seek.

Wellard stopped. She had to be hiding somewhere. "Come on out, you," he called, and in response, he heard a faint giggle. Lottie dashed out from behind a barrel, intending to climb down the ladder onto the lower gun deck. Before she was able to, Wellard caught up to her—his eyes flashing triumphantly. Quickly he grabbed her arms, preventing her escape. Squealing, Lottie tried weakly to free herself from his grasp, bumping into the wall behind her.

"Got you," Wellard said. For a moment, the two stared at each other, letting out heavy exhales. Then, Lottie wrapped her arms around his neck, and the two embraced. Wellard leaned his face downwards to smell her sweet, clean hair and twisted a strand of it around his finger.

"I- I love you, Herry," Lottie breathed, burrowing her face into his chest.

"I love you, Lottie," he murmured, his lips roaming her hair tenderly. Pulling away, Lottie leaned back against the wall.

"Kiss me. Quickly, before someone comes," she whispered.

Though normally the image of the Captain would loom in his mind, preventing him from doing anything the least bit punishable, now that the Captain was temporarily indisposed, Wellard had been willing to take more risks for his own pleasure. He was most happy to acquiesce Lottie's request. Laughing softly, he snaked his arms firmly around her waist, pinning her to the wall gently. His lips lingered for a hesitant moment before falling onto hers. He kissed her, more intensely than the last time, his fingers entangled in her hair. Lottie draped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. It felt so perfect, so right, this moment. All their cares seemed to fade the instant their lips met. The world around them vanished.

"I'll have no lewd behavior among my officers, Mr. Wellard. This is a ship of His Majesty, not some common brothel!"

The two jumped apart, fear filling their faces, and turned to face a livid Captain Sawyer. The Captain glared at his midshipman, completely irate. Then, as if changing his mind where he would direct his anger towards, he stared at Lottie, his eyes cold. She looked up, her eyes wide with terror. There was only one person that she had seen such an anger in before—the Captain of the _Indomptable_. It frightened her. Wellard grabbed her hand possessively. There was no way he was going to allow the Captain to hurt her. He could withstand as many beatings as necessary—as long as Lottie was unharmed. He tensed, expecting yet another fated punishment be laid upon him. However, none came. Instead, the Captain's eyes became sad, and the fire slowly began to fade.

A disappointed and somewhat jealous look crossed the Captain's face. "I had hoped you would be a bit wiser in choosing the object of your affections, Miss O'Hara. What did he promise you—money, the _world_? How foolish of you to believe him. Nothing good could ever come from this _boy_," he said, spitting on the last word.

Lottie squirmed beneath his gaze, unsure of how to respond. Why did he always have to cut Wellard down? And what was it with these people and money? Was love not even something to be considered? Before she could manage a reply, Hobbs appeared beside the Captain, sneering at the discovered couple.

"What about the lieutenants, sir?" he asked, jogging the Captain's fleeting memory.

"Quite right, Hobbs!" Sawyer said, and the two marched out onto the main deck, followed by the Marines. Wellard and Lottie exchanged worried glances. Cautiously, the two walked into the sunlight. Though both were greatly relieved that the Captain had not punished either of them, both knew that his intentions for the rest of his officers could not be good ones.

Horatio, having finished his bath, was lounging with his fellow officers, as well as Amy and Cat, while drying his hair with a towel. Hearing the thundering of footsteps, they all turned around at once to find the apparently recovered Captain.

"Sergeant, arrest lieutenants Hornblower, Bush and Kennedy and clap them in irons for the mutinous devils they are!" he shouted, waving his pistols manically. Marines approached the lieutenants, somewhat sheepishly, leading them below deck.

Unable to accept what was happening, Amy grabbed Bush's hand. "Miss," asked a young Marine politely, reaching to pull Amy's hand away from Bush's. The girl held on stubbornly. Bush sighed.

"Amanda, let go. It must be done—there's nothing you can do to stop it," he murmured, and Amy promptly released her grip on his hand. She had always hated being called Amanda. It had never seemed to fit her.

"Fine, _William_," she whispered back, fuming at the injustice. To think that things had just been going so well mere moments before, only to be ruined by the presence of an authoritative, yet mad, figure.

Cat bit her lip worriedly. With the lieutenants absent, there was no telling what the Captain would do. What would happen when they met the Spanish at Santa Domingo? And who would keep them safe?

"Don't worry, love," whispered Archie, who quickly leaned over and gave Cat an impulsive kiss, "I'll be alright." She could only hope his words would prove to be true. Giving him a weak smile, she kissed him back. Who knew how long it would be until they saw each other again? The marine waiting for the canoodling couple to end their conversation rolled his eyes.

"And you _women—_I have no doubt you played some part in this infamous affair. I'll be watching you," the Captain said, glancing suspiciously at Cat and Amy. With that, he left, his nose raised haughtily in the air, Hobbs and Clive close behind him. The lieutenants were taken away to the brig, leaving the girls alone once again.

Later that afternoon, the Renown sailed into the dangerous waters of the Santana Bay, on the edge of an impending battle with the Spanish. The crew had attempted and failed to elevate the guns high enough to hit the fort, but Captain Sawyer still pressed on. Buckland had weakly tried to persuade the Captain to turn back, saying there was no point in fighting the Spanish from sea if they could not attack them. The Captain had refused, saying, "No, I want to fight them!" An attack from the Spanish was now unpreventable, and the Renown would be defenseless against the Spanish cannons.

Defeated, the first lieutenant had sent the girls to wait in the wardroom, fearing the approaching blows that the ship would suffer. Now, Amy paced back and forth, annoyed that she would have to miss out on yet another exciting experience.

"Amy, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," commented Cat dryly, who was paging through a log book. Amy rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe we have to wait down here, in the dark—we're missing out on everything!"

Cat looked up from her book, frowning. "Is that all you care about? Witnessing a battle?"

"_No_. Come on… You agree with me, don't you Lottie?" she turned to Lottie to receive some support in her complaint. Lottie was quietly sewing up a hole in her dress. She had never liked sewing, but now that she was forced to use the skill, she wished she had practiced it more.

Lottie paused in thought, then said neutrally, "I cannot help but fear for the wellbeing of the men during the battle. Perhaps I would be comforted if we were allowed to stay on deck."

Now it was Cat's turn to roll her eyes. "Nothing is going to happen to _him_, Lottie," then she paused, as if trying to remember something, "Well, at least—I think so."

"What do you mean, _you t__hink so_?" scoffed Amy.

"I cannot remember for certain, my memories seem to be growing distant," answered Cat truthfully. Amy sighed.

"So you too, huh?" she asked, glancing at Cat and Lottie, who nodded in confirmation.

"It bothers me—sometimes I can remember what there is to come, and other times I don't remember anything at all," said Lottie quietly. The three became silent, each pondering in apprehensive solitude.

It was not long before explosions rocked the ship, cannon balls fiercely hitting the side of the Renown. Boom after boom was heard, splinters of wood flying hither and thither. Cat cowered, and Amy and Lottie scattered to opposite ends of the room. Lottie curled up in a corner, covering her head and trying and shut out the noise. Only a few months ago, she had heard the same smashing, the same cracking, the same boom of men firing upon each other aboard the Indomptable. How she had hated the noise and blood! And how she hated it even more now, knowing that Wellard was in its midst. There had been so many dead on the _Indomptable_, all lives lost for a mad man. Now would be no different. All she could do was sit and moan, hoping nothing too horrible would happen—a worthless weakling sitting quietly out of the way. It made her feel claustrophobic, sitting and being thrown repeatedly against the ship with furniture and papers flying everywhere. She couldn't stay here like this.

Shakily, she rose and was immediately jolted by the shots pounding into the side of the Renown. Groping her way along, she managed to reach the door.

"What are you doing? Are you insane? Don't go!" shouted Amy and Cat over the cannon fire.

Ignoring her friends' insistent cries, Lottie left the protection of the wardroom. It was not long before she made her way to the top deck, and gasped. Blood, both wet and dry ran along the deck. Never had she been one to be squeamish before, but now seemed to be an exception. Walking as though in a trance, she passed the fallen Captain, who sat quaking on the side of the ship. Sailors, both dead and wounded, laid on the deck, cannons and guns askew. So this was what it was like. On the _Indomptable_, they had been kept out of sight in the brig. She had never _seen _a battle before. It was said that the curiosity had killed the cat-however, Lottie had no intention of dying any time soon.

Across the deck, Wellard had sent by Buckland to fetch Doctor Clive. The Captain had, as Buckland had put it, 'gone to earth somewhere'. In other words, the Captain had had one of his drastic moments, this time he had threatened the lives of both Buckland and Wellard with a pistol. Fortunately, before anything too serious could happen, the ship had lurched and the three had scattered. Perhaps the Captain would be done away with once and for all. That was, if the Doctor could finally come to admit that his friend was unfit for command.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something that didn't belong in the scene of battle. Lottie was walking along the side, seemingly oblivious to the shells and debris soaring over her head. Swearing under his breath, he rushed to her, stepping over bodies and scattered wreckage. "Lottie!" he called out, breaking her out from her numb trance. She looked up, startled, and he grabbed her arm tightly.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, no wanting go to below, where the walls seemed to close in around her. Up here, she could breathe—no matter how chaotic it was. Wellard did not so much as loosen his grip on her as he led her down onto the lower deck. She would stay put from now on; he wouldn't see her hurt, he would never be able to live with himself. Lottie thrashed and fought, but to no avail, as Wellard was both older and stronger than she was.

He brought her to an out-of-the-way place, where it was quieter and a little less chaotic. Steaming, Wellard thrust her into the corner, where he hoped she would be a bit more protected from the raining blows. "Why did you come up there like that?" he shouted above the noise, furious. "You could have been killed!"

"I had to, I couldn't stay below- not in there, not knowing, never knowing," she mumbled, realizing how stupid her thoughts sounded out loud. Finally, after a few moments of silence, she added a minute, yet sincere, "I'm sorry." Wellard breathed out heavily, not at all consoled by her apology. If anything had happened to her up there...

"Never do that again," he ordered, his voice low. Lottie's eyes clouded with anger.

"I'll do as I wish. Now let go of me!" she hissed.

"No. Promise me you'll stay below," he said, tightening his grip on her wrist. Lottie gritted her teeth, irritated. His hand was beginning to hurt her.

"I promise," she finally muttered sullenly and she jerked her arm from his grasp. Realizing her fate would surely be to reside once more in the shaking wardroom, her eyes became wide and desperate, "Please, don't make me go back there!" she begged, "I couldn't bear it. I feel so suffocated and I-

"Alright, alright," he sighed and pushed her farther back into the corner. "Stay here." He paused, and it occurred to Wellard that he wasn't being very sympathetic towards Lottie—someone who shouldn't even have to witness something like this. Feeling a bit regretful, he opened his mouth to say something, then, as if having second thoughts, he shook himself and walked quickly back towards the sick bay to fetch the Doctor.

Lottie slid slowly down against the wooden wall, not caring that its roughness scratched her. A small part of her wished that she had stayed in the wardroom, instead of venturing out onto the blood covered deck with slain sailors lying amongst the scattered wreckage. Her mind was now filled with horrors that no movie could ever realistically portray, and Wellard was angry with her. What a mess. She had only wanted to be assured that he was safe, which was something she had momentarily achieved. It would be agonizing for her if something happened to him—she didn't know if she would be able to bear it. It made sense that, in turn, Wellard would be unable to bear it if something happened to her. No matter; all she could do was wait, a useless damsel anxiously awaiting the return of the hero.

Amy hurried along the ship, dodging enflamed wooden pieces spread throughout the gun deck. Matthews and Styles were right behind her, following her to the brig, where the lieutenants awaited to be released from their now water-filled prison. Cat and Amy had followed Lottie, for they both feared for their sanity if they stayed any longer in the wardroom. The rest of the ship had not been faring any better, though Cat and Amy had been somewhat comforted by the presence of other people around them.

Suddenly, the ship had lurched by a more natural cause than cannon fire. Cat and Amy had fallen to the deck, looking at each other with fear in their eyes. "We're aground," stated Cat, knowing that the Renown had finally hit the shallow gulf and was anchored, sitting still and waiting to be torn to pieces by the Spanish guns. It was then that Amy and Cat had split up, Cat heading to the sick bay to help save whatever life there was left, and Amy to fetch Matthews and Styles to help her release the imprisoned officers.

Now, Matthews swung a heavy axe down upon the barred window, breaking the lock and freeing the lieutenants, whose cage was slowly filling with sea water from a cannon-made hole. Matthews and Styles helped the three out, and Amy impulsively embraced Bush, as she was very happy to see him again. Their happiness was short-lived, as the lieutenants quickly ran out onto the top deck to help end the nightmare the Renown was in.

Meanwhile, Cat washed her hands for what felt like the thousandth time. If only the blackened blood would rinse off easily! She glanced up at Doctor Clive, who was freshening his instruments in a second bucket very similar in shape to the one Cat had her hands dipped in. Cat had been down in the sick bay for what seemed like ages, working alongside the Doctor, bandaging and cleaning what her little experience could handle. She often found she had to remind herself that the man she was working with was a drunken, belligerent man most of the time, as his demeanor completely transformed as he worked with his patients, his voice a bit less raspy and his hands having a calm purpose.

Even though Cat had never been queasy around blood, and had a natural way of fixing things that could be applied to simple medicine practice, Cat had never dreamed of working as a nurse. Several times, Clive had asked her to leave the room, presumably to perform something that he felt wasn't for female eyes to see, no matter how helpful she was. Cat hadn't minded too much; it provided a break and time to rest her eyes for a moment.

"Miss Hampton?" called the Doctor.

Cat quickly wiped her hands on the long strip of cloth that served as a towel. "Yes, Doctor?" she asked.

"I'm needed on deck. Could you please keep an eye on things down here?"

"Of course," she said, wondering why the Doctor would be needed on deck. From the look on his face, she couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with the Captain.

"And Miss Hampton," he paused, and added as an afterthought, "I greatly appreciate the assistance. You've been a great help to me." He paused, feeling awkward as he talked. Nodding politely, he walked out the door and up on deck.

Cat began to walk amongst the many, swaying hammocks, smiling encouragingly at pained patients. As she passed the very last bunk, she heard a small breath—too small to be that of a grown man's. Curiosity urged her to pause, and step aside to see. There, lying almost pitifully in Cat's eyes, was a sleeping boy who couldn't be more than ten years old. Her heart broke as her hand brushed the tightly bandaged left arm.

Wide blue eyes snapped open, and stared up at her, looking startled. Then, the slightly freckled face smiled boyishly, with his head tucked into his shoulder, light brown hair brushing his eyes. The voice that followed wasn't quite what Cat expected, but she liked the husky little resonance immediately. "I know who you are." Cat's brows rose slightly.

"Oh?" she asked, not quite sure what to say to the lad.

"You're Catherine Hampton—you're a _lady_," he said matter-of-factly. She felt a smile touch the edge of her lips as her said her name, looking proud to know it.

"That's me. I'm sorry; I don't think I know your name." His head cocked, and that impish grin reappeared, only faintly laced with pain from his arm. His voice sounded softer, quieter as he gave up his name.

"Davy." His sentences seemed short and almost shy to Cat.

"Are you a…" She searched her mind for the term. "Powder Monkey?" Her head tilted sideways for confirmation. His eyes lit up, giving her the answer. She had to smile at the reaction. "How old are you, Davy?"

"Eight. Almost nine." His concise sentences made Cat want to hear more. She pushed him a little farther.

"What happened to your arm?" she asked, and gestured to it, careful not to touch. His gaze flitted to the injury, then came back to Cat's face.

"I…" His eyes closed in concentration, trying to remember what the Doctor had reported. "Well I, I knocked into something—really hard—and I, I d-don't remember what happened after tha- that." Cat was momentarily startled at his longer speech. He had a stutter."Doctor Clive said it should b-be alright soon, th- though." He looked as if he were tired out just by talking. His eyelids drooped ever so slightly, though Cat could tell he was fighting the motion. She smiled softly, and lowered her frame so that her eyes were level with his.

"I'm sure it will, Davy. You go back to sleep now, all right?" He nodded and closed his eyes, his head nestling back again into the hammock. As she made her way back, she still had the smile in place, leaving her to wonder why she felt like crying. Thoughts of her youngest brother flew through her mind, though he had long since passed the age of eight. Fragments of images fluttered around in her head. _Football in the back yard. Toys scattered in the living room. First bike ride. Snowmen._ Her smile now dripped with tears.

Up on deck, Horatio had taken charge. Two small boats were organized and the anchor was successfully rowed and dropped farther along the bay. The men now heaved and strained at the wheel, desperately trying to pull themselves from the rocky shore. A cannon was fired, and a great groan was heard from the ship, as if a tension had suddenly been relieved. That gave Horatio an idea. Racing on deck, he found Buckland, attempting to mop the blood spilling from the wound along his brow. "Sir!" he exclaimed, managing to get the fatigued lieutenant's attention. "In order to re-float the ship, we must fire all of our guns, double-shoted. I believe it will release the suction that is holding us here, sir."

"There he is! Get back, all of you!" roared Captain Sawyer, seeming to once again appear out of nowhere. Horatio turned, dismayed at the sight of his insane, yet nevertheless alive, superior. The Captain cocked his pistol, aiming it directly at Horatio's heart.

At that moment, Wellard appeared from below, followed by several marines. At the sight of the Captain, he recoiled, not at all happy to see him standing once more. Had the Doctor not _at least_ brought him below? It appeared he had not. Good God! What was wrong with that man?

Horatio sighed with relief at the sight of the marines. "Mr. Wellard, please inform Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Bush to fire the guns, double-shoted."

"Aye, sir," the lad nodded breathlessly, and turned to go below decks once more. Before he could, he was stopped by the commanding voice of the Captain, "Don't move, you puppy!"

Horatio's eyes were desperate. "Please," he said, and Wellard didn't hesitate to leave. The Captain and his pistol were getting too close for his comfort. "Doctor Clive, is the Captain fit for command or not?" Horatio asked, panic beginning to rise in his voice as the Captain began to squeeze the trigger.

"You know it's not as simple as that," began the Doctor, who was swiftly interrupted.

"If none of you will do your duty, then I will!" shouted the Captain as he began to count down out loud, "Three!"

"Doctor Clive! You cannot keep prevaricating, or we shall all die here, sir!" yelled Amy, who had come up to stand beside Horatio. Would this man not make up his mind? He _had_ to declare Sawyer unfit for command—regardless of his longtime friendship, the man would surely lead them all to their graves.

"Two!"

After a long and baited pause, Clive managed a defeated, "Alright!" Amy gave a sigh of relief. "The Captain is incapable of command—at the present time."

"One!" screamed the Captain, who fired his pistol. At the same moment, the Renown's guns were fired, causing the ship to once again float in the waters of the bay. Amy squeezed her eyes shut, fearing that Horatio's life had ended. When she opened them, she saw the Captain being led away by the Marines, and Horatio still standing, a little dazed.

"Did you know that the Captain's pistol would not go off?" Amy asked curiously.

Horatio blinked, realizing the miracle that had just occurred. "No, I didn't."

"Then that was very brave of you."

He bowed his head humbly, hiding a smile, "Thank you, Miss."

Later that evening, Cat sat with Horatio and Archie, listening to them discuss their situation. Horatio's idea to make a second attack on the fort that night, instead of continuing on to Kingston, Jamaica, had been brought up and swiftly thwarted by Buckland and Bush. Now Horatio and Archie seethed in silence, knowing that their fate had been sealed by their failure to capture the island of Santa Domingo.

Cat put a gentle hand on Archie's shoulder, causing him to look up and give her a weak smile. "Oh, Cat," he sighed, and she sat down on the bench beside him. "It's hopeless. We've removed the Captain from his command, we've failed to take the island, and to top it all off, we're going to have the whole Admiralty waiting for us in Kingston."

"Shh," shushed Cat, hating to see him so defeated. She herself felt a wave of dread slowly overcoming her as well, even though she knew that the story was not yet over. "This isn't over yet," she told him firmly and kissed his cheek.

"But I'm afraid it clearly is, Miss," said Horatio, who looked away, pretending not to notice the physical display of affection shown by the couple. Cat could swear she saw a tinge of red spread up from his neck.

Cat frowned. Surely they weren't giving up so easily! "Yes," Archie mused sadly, agreeing with Horatio's former statement. Then a flash of anger passed through his eyes, "If only Mr. Bush had-" The door opened, and Amy and Bush entered, both breathless and fearful.

"My former opinion was a mistake, a mistake we must now seek to correct, together. I agree that we should attack the fort, as soon as we can. For if we don't," Bush looked grim as he told his companions, "I fear we shall all _hang_."

Up on deck, Wellard sat wearily. He would be on watch for another seven long hours. It had been a horrible, long day—the only thing he really wanted to do was sleep. After the battle, Lottie had latched on to him, not wanting to lose sight of him ever again. At first, he had feared she would be angry with him for his earlier tone, but it seemed as if she could only rejoice in the fact that he was still alive and be contented by his warmth. All in all, he was relieved that the whole matter was over.

Wellard had tried to convince Lottie to go to her hammock. After all, she was clearly exhausted—both physically and mentally. However, she had adamantly refused, practically begging him to let her share his watch. Begrudgingly, he had allowed her to stay with him, and the two had curled up nicely on a long box along the larboard side of the quarter deck.

Secretly, he was glad that he had someone with him. Not only was it easier to stay awake, but he could spend a few more hours with the girl he loved so dearly and, perhaps, sneak a few kisses here and there when no one was looking. Lottie had managed to stay awake for exactly an hour, defiantly forcing her drooping eyes open. Wellard had meanwhile played with her fingers absent-mindedly, leaning down every once in awhile to nuzzle her cheek.

Finally, Lottie had given in and laid, half asleep, on his shoulder. Shifting his weight to make her more comfortable, Wellard admired her beauty. Strange, it was, that no matter what Lottie had seen and endured, all signs of stress and worries faded as soon as she closed her eyes. The moonlight shone bright against her skin, making her fair-colored hair luminescent. Smiling to himself, he led a finger along her cheek softly. Breathing out contently, Lottie burrowed down into his shoulder, absorbing his warmth. Wellard knew he couldn't let her sleep here for the rest of the watch; he should take her back to her hammock. Gently, he moved her head from his shoulder and picked her up. "No," she moaned in quiet protest.

Wellard smiled. "Sorry," he murmured as he carried her down to the Midshipman's Berth. Once he reached it, Johnson and Delaney immediately stood, pulling back the curtain so Wellard could lay his sleeping beauty in her hammock. The two midshipman exchanged smirks, but refrained from making a jibe at their fellow officer's entrance. Wellard covered Lottie with her blanket, kissed her forehead, and left.

Part of the Renown's journey had come to a close. They had reached their destination—Santa Domingo. Now that the Captain had officially been declared unfit for command, an inward sigh of relief seemed to echo throughout the Renown's crew.

While weary sailors climbed into their hammocks and restless officers paced in their cabins, one burly seaman planned his desertion. He had made too many enemies here; if he stayed, he would surely get a knife in his back. There was nothing left for him here. He, along with several others, crawled out through portholes and slipped silently overboard. They were leaving this mess to be sorted out by someone else.

**Well, there it was. ZSHA END (of Mutiny). And kind of a cliffhanger too... sorry. I just couldn't resist! Review, my wonderful readers!**


	11. Oh, What the Retribution!

**Hello. I am very sorry to disappoint you all, but I'm discontinuing this story. Thank you for reading, and again, I'm sorry. **

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**JUST KIDDING! HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S!**

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**Come on, I'm not **_that_** mean. **

**Here it is, the long awaited chapter zehn. Thanks for reading! My apologies for not updating since, well, a very long time ago. Reviews muchly appreciated. And to my friend: **So** sorry for the wait, I hope you weren't serious about the death threats you sent me… :/ So therefore, I dedicate this chapter to YOU, one of my bestest friends in the whole world. Stay real, and enjoy this bit of awful writing. ;)**

_Chapter 10: Oh, What the Retribution! _

It was still that morning. Quiet waves splashed against the side of the Renown lazily. A warm breeze blew steadily, propelling the ship slowly onward. The sun had not yet risen, nor had officers come up to take the place of those who were on watch.

Only a day had passed since the Captain had been removed from his command, but the Renown had made a speedy recovery from the Spanish attack. Yesterday morning, the absence of a score of men had been discovered, along with an unconscious marine and a suspicious looking Hobbs—a heavy bruise smarting along his brow. The deserters, as the missing men had been determined, were reported to the lieutenants, though there was little the officers could do in response. Randall had been among the sailors that had left the Renown; no one was disappointed at his departure.

Amy stared passively at the dark ceiling above her. She had fallen asleep almost immediately, only to be awakened by strange dreams involving pink unicorns and asparagus—two of her least favorite things. Now, she found sleep impossible. The midshipmen slept peacefully in swaying hammocks, one snoring slightly. It was infuriating, hearing their tranquil breathing, yet unable to join them in their rest. The moon, surrounded by optimistic stars, shone brightly in from open portholes, as if mocking her.

In the hammock beside her, Lottie stirred slowly from her convoluted dreaming. It had started out as a pleasant, ordinary dream. Then, the world had gone abstract and inane, turning everything painful and loud. Horrific images had filled her mind, causing her to wake with an acute apprehension. She sighed shakily. The darkness, though comforting to some people, had always caused anxiety to rise inside her.

"Bad dream?" murmured Amy, turning to face her friend.

"Yes. It was horrible," she whispered back, glad not to be the only one awake.

"You've had them a lot, haven't you?"

"It's been worse lately; every night, a new horror I never remember."

Cat listened restlessly to her friends' chatter. A nervousness filled her, one she couldn't comprehend. Something was about to happen, she could feel it. What, she didn't know. Several times she had attempted to fall back asleep, only to startle awake once more with the same strange excitement. Giving up in returning to her slumber, she rolled over.

"Oh, look who's finally joining us," commented Amy, "You are always the one to be late to things, aren't you Cat?"

"Not as often as _some_ people," retorted Cat, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"I think Lottie has something she would like to announce."

"Amy!" Lottie protested, hiding her head under her blanket, embarrassed.

Cat just smiled. "Oh?"

"Well," Lottie began in a hurried whisper, "Wellard proposed to me."

Surprised, and then again not surprised at all, Cat breathed out, "Why didn't you inform us of this before? And what did you say?"

"I was going to, but everything seemed to be hurried and much more important—so I kept it to myself," she explained, and then added, "I said yes." She giggled happily, and Cat was very glad to see her friend looking excited. Lately, Lottie had been so serious all the time, worried about everything. It was good to see her in a lighter mood.

"You are so weird, being all humble like that. If _I_ had been proposed to by the man of my dreams, I would climb to the crow's nest and yell it out for the world to hear. I wouldn't be able to keep quiet," remarked Amy.

"We're supposed to be humble, Amy," argued Lottie, but Amy disregarded her friend's response with a small shrug of her shoulders, not in the mood to debate philosophical topics.

"But who would this man of your dreams be, Amy?" Cat jibed, "Perhaps a," she paused, grinning wickedly, "A _Mr. William Bush_?"

Even in the dim light, Lottie could see Amy's face color slightly, and an odd look cross her face. For the first time that Lottie could remember, it seemed that Amy was flustered over the mention of a male specimen. When she answered, however, her voice remained unchanged.

"_Him_?" she said, feigning a perfect sneer. "That man is," she searched for the right word, "Arrogant! And proud, and-

"_And _handsome and charming and intriguing," continued Cat knowingly. Amy buried her face into her pillow, hiding whatever facial expression she had. "We know, dear. Now stop saying things you don't mean before something comes out that you'll regret."

Amy said nothing. It seemed as though she, for once, had been rendered speechless. Cat had managed to shoot an arrow of blatancy into a defiant heart, hitting the center of Amy's denial. Finally, she looked up at Cat with an indifferent look on her face.

"Alright, you got me. Do you want a medal? But if anyone should be teasing anyone, it should be me teasing you about the _lovely_ PDA between you and a certain officer. Seriously, there should be a rule against that!"

"There _is_, dear. You just don't pay attention."

"And neither do you, apparently."

Lottie laughed. Before Cat could come up with some other witty retort, loud bells and sheer whistles sounded from all around them. Officers went about the ship, yelling at sleepy sailors to look lively. This they did reluctantly, rolling out of their warm hammocks and rising only because of their fear of what would happen to them if they didn't.

Soon, men from all over the Renown thudded up to the top deck. What was taking place, no one was able to tell. Something of importance was about to occur, otherwise the men would have been allowed to sleep till their next watch—which started at approximately four in the morning.

"What's going on?" whispered Cat to her companions. Both were as ignorant of the event as she was.

Curious, Lottie left the berth, slipping up onto the deck and walking up quietly behind the gathered crew. Buckland was speaking as loudly and gallantly as a regal officer about to lead his army into a sure victory.

"…for tonight—we attack the fort!" shouted Buckland finally, and an enormous cheer rose from the men of the Renown. Buckland smiled wearily. It seemed as if his speech had worn him out. Lottie could only hope that it had been worth his trouble.

Frowning, she began to make her way back to the berth. The Renown had seemed to change its mind. Instead of sailing in dread of their fate in Kingston, the crew's mood had lightened considerably now that they would have the chance to avenge their enemy, the Spanish.

Hurrying back, Lottie breathlessly retaliated what Buckland had said to her companions. When she had finished, Amy looked at her with a determined, stubborn expression.

"I'm going," she said with such a finality that it didn't occur to Lottie to argue with her. She simply nodded, not knowing how Amy would manage this feat—she being a woman, and the crew consisting of men. Cat, on the other hand, was not willing to let Amy slide.

"Why?" she exclaimed.

"I'm done with playing games, Cat. This isn't just some silly TV show we happened to fall into anymore. This is real; this is our _life _now. I've learned things here that I never thought I didn't know. Whether this attack succeeds or not is vital—it ultimately decides our fate. When we reach Kingston, we will certainly face a court martial. The Admiralty won't see a drunken crew, abused officers and a mad captain; they'll see a Spanish victory, jealous lieutenants, and mutiny," she paused, her face solemn. "To add to our misery, there's been talk among the crew that the Captain's fall was not accidental, but an infamous affair devised by the party who were present when it occurred."

"You don't mean…?"

"Yes, Lottie. Someone suspects that the Captain did not tumble down into the hold by accident, but that he was forcibly pushed. Just a few days ago, I heard Hobbs conversing with Wellard in a most accusing manner. I have no doubt that he suspects the lad of causing the Captain to fall."

"But none of us pushed the Captain!" cried Lottie. If they or the lieutenants were suspected of pushing the Captain into the hold, then the act would be declared a mutiny most definitely, and every suspicious officer would hang. It was critical that the truth remained universally known; the Captain fell backwards into the hold without help from anyone.

Hurriedly, Lottie continued, "All six of us would testify that-

"Either way," interrupted Amy impatiently, "This attack cannot fail. And if I can stop it from failing, I will."

For once, Cat did not argue. The fire faded from her eyes, and after a baited pause, she nodded. "You're right." Lottie was surprised. It wasn't often that Cat admitted Amy was right. And even fewer times was Amy _actually_ right. "So, how do you plan to go about this?"

The playful smirk reappeared on Amy's face as quickly as it had left. "Wait here."

So Lottie and Cat waited, dressing and making themselves presentable. It was not long before Amy reappeared from behind the curtain, carrying a small bundle.

"Where did you get those?" asked Cat, astonished as Amy pulled a loose shirt and baggy trousers from the bag she carried. She began to change quickly.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," stated Amy, pulling her hair into a bun and covering her head with a large knit cap she had also removed from her bag. Cat raised her eyebrows, but made no further comment. "Now if you would be so kind—this actress needs some convincing makeup." Amy reached into her bag once more to pull out a piece of wood, charred on one end. Her friends seated Amy on their trunk, and then began to apply the ashen substance onto her face. Once they were done, her face and limbs were dark, dirty, and somewhat more masculine.

Cat and Lottie feared for their friend; both for her welfare and her gender being discovered. Presently, all three came slowly up on deck. Amy quickly left to join the crowd of gathered sailors. The crew was excited by the imminent battle, and a buzz filled the air. Boats were loaded with eager sailors, a determined Amy lost among them.

Mr. Bush approached Cat and Lottie, hoping to see Amy with them. He tried to not let his disappointment show as he discovered her absence and bid them a very early good morning. The girls showed the suspicious signs of nervousness, but Bush, preoccupied with his thoughts of Miss Galloway, did not notice. Archie and Wellard joined the girls, and all four embraced one another.

"Be safe," whispered Lottie into Wellard's ear.

"Don't worry about me, Lottie," he told her, kissing her forehead before releasing her from his grip.

Truth be told, he was downright nervous about this whole ordeal. Ever since the Captain had been forcefully removed from command, Wellard had been a little on edge. Hobbs was out for revenge, and had questioned and prodded him several times about the Captain's fall. Wellard couldn't honestly remember the details of the event. Whether his memory loss was due to the lateness of the hour at which it had occurred or the remnants of laudanum in his system, he did not know. Hobbs hinted heavily at the possibility that the Captain had not simply fallen, but was pushed. The way the Gunner had looked at him, suspicion and anger lighting his eyes, made Wellard uneasy. Perhaps Hobbs thought that _he_ had pushed the Captain into the hold. The thought of going into battle alongside Hobbs was a bit unnerving, especially since every time he turned to look at him, he was received with the same cold, distrustful stare.

The longboats were rowed to shore in dark silence. To her dismay, Amy found that the only available spot to sit was right next to Matthews and Styles—two people who could very possibly recognize her. She made her way to them and sat down, trying to keep her head as low as possible. The two talked in hushed whispers, seeming not to notice the huddled figure.

When they touched shore, she leapt out immediately. In her haste to leave the longboat, she stumbled and fell down onto the cool sand. Styles let out an bemused grunt, and Matthews hoisted Amy back onto her feet. "You watch yourself now _laddie_," advised Matthews, emphasizing the word 'laddie' emphatically. Amy made no reply, but dared to look up at the Bosun warily. The sailor was looking very pointedly at her, but otherwise made no other comment. Amy suspected he knew, or at least had suspicions about, her true identity, but he chose to keep his thoughts to himself, much to her relief.

The party moved onward towards the fort until they were halted by Horatio, who had come across something most disconcerting. The deserters, all twenty, had fled to the shore, only to be slaughtered in their sleep. The corpses laid in random disarray, an eerie silence hovering above their resting place.

After the crew had recovered from their initial shock, the bodies were laid in a row and the lieutenants pondered who had committed this devious act. Horatio did not think it was the work of the Spanish, as all were killed during the night and none were taken prisoner. The whole circumstance was quite puzzling.

The first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, gently washing the sky in purple and golden hues. Alarmed by the suddenness of the sun's arrival, the crew proceeded to the fort, stopping mere yards away behind the cover of a nearby hill. The lieutenants scoped out the location, observing the watchtower guard canoodle with his lover.

Wellard looked back at the men, and caught the eye of a particular nervous-looking boy. For some reason, he looked out of place, as though he didn't belong here—and strangely familiar, though he had never seen him before. Frowning, he opened his mouth to call out to him.

Suddenly, shots rang out from the direction of the Renown. The men turned to look, confused by the noise. The Renown was quickly forgotten, however, as the Spanish guard had spotted the British ship in their bay—his lover momentarily forgotten—and had began to ring the warning bell.

The crew charged forward, Amy along with them. The clashing of swords and gunfire surrounded her. She ran hap-haphazardly, trying her best to fight her way through the warfare without ending up on the wrong end of a gun, or a sword, or a club, or any dangerous object for that matter. Suddenly, she found herself facing a Spanish solider who looked around her own age. For a spilt second they hesitated, sizing up one another. Then, in one sequence, their swords clashed angrily against one another, again and again.

Ironically, the loud clangs and bangs that echoed from her weapon brought a brief smile to Amy's lips. Her brothers had loved the art of sword fighting, and had taught her to use a blade well. However, whilst practicing against her brothers, it had never occurred to her that she might use the skill later on in a genuine fight. If only they could see her now.

Amy prayed, trying to suppress the fear rising up inside her chest._ Our Father, who art in Heaven... could you please get me out of this crap alive?_

Back on the ship, Cat and Lottie protested loudly on either side of Buckland, each yelling rude phrases and suggestions, thankfully incoherently. Just moments before, a small boat had approached the Renown, upon which the general of the rebel slaves was aboard, as well as several British sailor hostages. The general had told them if they left the island at once, no harm would come to rest of his men. It was also revealed that the deserters, assumed to be Spanish soldiers, had been slain in their sleep by the rebel army.

The acting Captain, panicking, called out a hasty command to fire, which he later denied as well as regretted. The Marines fired at the small party of rebel slaves, killing two. The two hostages were stabbed by the remaining rebels and the small crew hastily rowed away. The general, enraged, called out to Buckland, "You will regret this! I swear to you, sir, you will regret this!"

Lottie had shivered at his words, and a horrible sense of foreboding filled her. Turning away from the general, still calling out threats, Buckland had called out to no one in particular, "We must make for the mouth of the bay!" Cat and Lottie had groaned. If the Renown did not remain in the bay, there would be no escape for the crew members and officers on the island.

However, it appeared there was nothing they could do. Buckland waited calmly until they had finished expressing their worried thoughts, not really listening. When they had paused to catch their breaths, he said, "Now ladies, just because you are romantically involved with a few of my officers doesn't mean that I should let your feelings influence me. I beg of you, take your leave." He dismissed them with a tired wave of his hand, refusing to hear another word.

"_A few of _my _officers_," Cat mimicked as she tromped down the wooden stairs, not knowing if she had ever felt so frustrated in her life. "That man thoroughly disgusts me."

Lottie said nothing in reply, but only bit her lip worriedly, deep in thought.

"Lottie," cried Cat as they continued to walk towards the Midshipman's Berth. "Amy's out there, they're all out there, in the midst of it—without a getaway car! Or," she corrected herself dryly, "A getaway _boat_." She flopped down into her hammock, looking up at the ceiling with despair. She nervously began braiding and unbraiding her long brown hair. "Lottie," she whispered, "What do we do now?"

Quietly, Lottie sat down on Amy's hammock. After a moment, she looked up at Cat, a deep seriousness in her eyes. "We wait," she said, and after a pause, "And pray."

Back on the island, Amy was actually beginning to get the hang of bashing people with sharp things. It was hard getting past the reality of the blood and gore of battle. Then again, she was surviving, and that meant that life was good. The constant movement was beginning to cause a slight problem. Her bun was loosening greatly, her cap slipping further off of her head. As a uniform-clad solider rushed at her, sword above his head, she ducked and stumbled. His sword missed her head, just barely, and caught itself in her knit cap. Before Amy could react, off came her hat, and her dark hair came tumbling down, giving her a wild, crazed look. The solider stared, confused at how in one instant, his dangerous enemy had turned into a harmless female.

For a moment, neither opponent moved. The solider didn't seem capable of attacking a woman. Amy decided to use this to her advantage. She swung at the solider, and he swung right back at her, barely missing her shoulder. Thrown off balance, she stumbled to her knees. At that moment, another sword came from behind, stabbing and killing the solider. The body fell to the ground, and Amy looked for the person who had aided her.

A conglomeration of emotions rose in her as she saw the face of none other than William Bush. Above all, she was glad to see him; it meant that he had survived so far. On the other hand, she was scared to see him; technically, she wasn't even supposed to be here, much less be a part of the battle scene. A mixture of confusion and fury exploded on his face as he recognized her, despite her tangled hair, smudges, bruises, and ragged clothes. The look in his eyes was hard to define. He went over to her, and hoisted her up by the arm. She was roughly pulled along with him until they reached the stone wall of the fortress.

The battle was beginning to turn poor for the crew of the Renown. Soldiers that had been previously fighting on the ground level were beginning to reappear above them. Yet, all doors leading to the top level of the fort had sealed off by the Spanish soldiers. As far as Bush could tell, there were no other ways to get to the top. However, Horatio had gotten an idea, taking with him Archie, Hobbs, Wellard and Matthews as well as several barrels of gun powder. Bush hoped they would be able to find a back way through the fort. If they didn't figure out a way to reach the soldiers on the upper level soon, they would be surrounded, and Bush would have no other option but to surrender.

"What do you think you're doing out here?" he roared above the screaming, shouting, gunfire and clashing of swords.

Amy was, once again, momentarily lost for words. After a slight pause, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Looking out for your ass," she shouted back, the ever-present rebellious flame in her eye burning, but not so brightly now.

As soon as she spoke, she regretted her words, Now was probably not the best time for humor, seeing as how the look in Bush's eyes screamed bloody murder. If looks could kill, Amy would have been halfway to heaven by now. She nervously began twisting a tangled piece of her hair around her finger.

"Amanda, the battle field is no place for a woman. You're going to get yourself killed!" Bush shook his head disbelievingly, astonished at the nerve of this girl. It was one thing to be a mindless flirt, or have stubbornly strong opinions about the liberty of women, but to voluntarily throw oneself—a vulnerable female—into the midst of a bloody, fatal war zone was going too far. He shook her arm roughly, forcing her to look up at him. He looked in her eyes, bright blue and full of fear, and felt his anger lessen, but only a little.

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was true, she really shouldn't be here. Once again, she had acted abruptly, not caring about the consequences. The thought of death began to lurk in her mind. She didn't want to die—not here, in Santa Domingo, stabbed by some nameless brute. At once, a million sentences began pouring from her mouth at once, not making any sense to her or her companion.

"Look, Amanda," he interrupted, "Just stick with me—and I'll see you out of it, alright?" Amy nodded helplessly, still unsure of how to react. It was as if in one instant, all imaginings and fantasies left her. Here she was, standing in the middle of blood and death. It didn't matter that the year was 1801, or that she was really a foreigner to this time. Everything here was _real_; her family, friends and culture of her former home no longer mattered.

Meanwhile, Buckland was having a nervous breakdown. Amy's absence had finally been noticed, and no one seemed to have a clue where she was. Even the other females had denied knowing her whereabouts. The remaining crew was ordered to search the entire Renown, only finding an unconscious young sailor below decks. His name was Joseph Young, one of Amy's favorite crew members.

After he had been roughly brought around, a conference consisting of Buckland, the Doctor, Joe and the two remaining girls was called to order in the wardroom. Joe explained that Amy had come to him, asking for a spare pair of trousers and a shirt in return for a the bottle of brandy. When he brought them to her, he began to become suspicious of her reasons for wanting them. Joe told his audience, "I says to 'er, "What would a nice miss like you want with these?" and then she gets a queer look on 'er face, and says that she be changing her mind, that she won't be needin' me clothes anymore. So I shrugs it off, and turns away, and then wham! Everythin' goes black. And when I wakes up, me clothes are gone, and this brandy's in me pocket, imagine that!"

"You mean to say that the girl now has your clothes, young man?" asked Buckland, worry etched on his face.

"Aye sir, I reckon she has 'em," answered Joe, still holding a wet rag to the back of his head, where a small bruise was forming.

Joe was excused, and Buckland paced back and forth. It was a very funny sight, and despite his seriousness, Cat had a hard time not laughing. After a few minutes of obvious deep thought, Buckland exclaimed, "Dear Lord! That's where she is." Turning to the girls, he told them, "She must have gone ashore with the crew. To think, such a pretty little thing—out there all alone." A look of utter horror crossed his face, and Cat even thought she saw a few tears welling up in his eyes.

The girls exchanged glances, slightly disturbed by his display. This guy was just a bit much.

Seeing an opportunity, Lottie immediately pounced upon it. "Then we must return immediately! After all, we cannot just let her die there, sir," she pointed out. At the word 'die', Buckland jumped slightly, and then nervously chewed his nails, internally conflicted.

"Quite right, quite right, Miss O'Hara," he said finally. As they all walked out on deck, he called in a very official voice, "We make for Santana Bay," and then added grimly, "To pick up any survivors there may be."

Horatio had, once again, come to the rescue of Mr. Bush. Team Super-Awesome, consisting of Horatio, Archie, Wellard, Hobbs and Matthews, had crashed through the wall that hid a series of tunnels underneath the fort. The Spanish had been quickly overtaken, surrendering soon afterward. The crew of the Renown had hurried to top of the fort to prevent the Spanish ships from leaving the bay.

Amy, by some miracle, had managed to keep up with Bush through the crowds, gunshots, screaming and blood. The rest of crew had finally noticed her, none any less surprised than Bush had been upon first seeing her. Wellard was the most astounded, as he realized that the strange sailor he seen earlier was none other than Amy. The Renown, however, remained absent from the bay—something that was beginning to worry the officers. Buckland had been supposed to stay stationed by the edge of the bay, waiting until the fort was taken to come and aid them.

Horatio fired a cannon at the Spanish ships, missing their mast by mere feet. "The sea boils, Horatio!" Archie called out, holding a bronze spyglass to his eye.

The cannon was readjusted, and this time Bush gave the order to fire. The cannonball whizzed through the air, catching one of the Spanish sails. The crew gave a loud cheer, Amy among them. But before another cannon could be fired, a different cannon shot rang out from the distance.

"What was that?" asked Horatio, looking out across the bay.

"It's the Renown, sir!" called Wellard excitedly, smiling broadly. Amy sighed with relief, slumping against the wall. Despite all of the horrible experiences that had occurred on that ship, it was an immense relief to see it sailing towards them. It was something familiar, and meant that they were rescued. The battle was over; she had survived. Feeling Bush's gaze on her, she turned towards him and gave him a small smile. He did not return her smile, but turned back out to the ocean. Amy frowned. She hoped Bush wouldn't stay mad at her too long. Seeing as how the anger had still not completely faded from his eyes, her hope was a small one.

**To be continued. **

**Alright—that should hold you all over for a few days. Just kidding. The continuation of this chapter I will be adding directly, so check back once in a while. In the meantime... review?**


	12. Like True British Sailors

Part 1:** I know it's been months since the last post, but hopefully I will be able to update more frequently because it is SUMMER! *insert hallelujah chorus* Also, this chapter has been done for a while, but my internet died a while ago, so I wasn't able to post. :**

Part 2:** This is kind of a boring chapter… so sorry in advance. This was the hardest chapter for me to write. However, excitement is nearing, people! Thank you to my beautiful reviewers. Your reviews are truly works of art. Keep it up, pleasies.**

_Chapter 11: Like True British Sailors_

The lieutenants and Wellard made their way down to the shore, where a jolly boat was docking. Buckland strode over to his officers at a brisk, excited pace. To their pleasant surprise, Cat and Lottie both followed behind him. As soon as the two females spotted their AWOL friend, they rushed over to her, pouncing and gushing as if they had not seen her in many years.

"Oh, Amy!" exclaimed Lottie, squeezing her tight. Amy returned her hug, grateful for an excuse to turn away from Bush's stare. When she pulled away, Lottie's eyes were bright. Her friend just nodded, overcome with joy, and not knowing what to say.

Cat was next. "I shouldn't have let you go," she babbled as she embraced her friend. Though the two constantly bickered and appeared to be worst enemies at times, deep down Cat loved Amy as she would her own sister. It was painful to imagine anything happening to her. "It was so stupid, I can't believe I-

"Calm down, dear. You can't get rid of me that easy," said Amy, smiling ironically. She was just glad to see them.

"Do you mean to say that you both knew of her little escapade?" asked Bush incredulously, unable to believe that someone could keep such a scandalous plot secret.

"So what if they did?" snapped Amy, releasing Cat to glare at Bush. Bush glared right back, his unblinking eyes seeming to stare into her soul.

Unsure of how to respond to the situation that had now become awkward, Cat and Lottie moved away from the stare-down and walked over to the other officers. Cat, quite contradictory to her usually disciplined nature, rushed into Archie's arms. Oblivious to those around her, she kissed his right cheek, and then his left. Finally, Archie pulled her into a kiss on the lips, and Styles sniggered—only to be swatted warningly by Matthews. Wellard smiled, but politely turned away from the entwined couple.

Immensely relieved to find them in one piece, Lottie approached Wellard, noticing that his entire uniform was covered in a layer of dust, his hair was messy and face smudged. Quirking an eyebrow, she couldn't help but comment..

"What happened to you?"she asked, brushing off a dusty shoulder.

A tint of color appeared on Wellard's cheeks. As he opened his mouth to reply, Archie, who had by now separated himself from Cat, answered Lottie's question.

"He fell down a hole, Miss Lottie."

Lottie could have swore that Wellard was fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he replied, "Not by choice," a hint of annoyance evident in his voice. Noticing the glances exchanged by the two, Lottie decided to drop the subject.

Archie turned back to Cat, who abruptly fell back into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her once again. Enveloped in Archie's arms, Cat was content just to breath deeply, enjoying the warmth of his body and the reassuring beat of his heart. Somehow, she had managed to appear calm. It had always been that way. No matter how unnerved or terrified she was inside, she always masked it with a composed expression for the sake of Lottie and Amy. This time, though, it had been harder to conceal the racing of her heart, the fears echoing in her mind.

The memories she had kept close were fading quickly. Details she once remembered of her former life were now forgotten. No longer could she see clearly the places and people she had known to be familiar. However, there was one, clear detail that she could never forgot—one that would haunt her up until the point that which it would occur. It lingered in the back of her mind, never leaving, and causing her to feel constantly on edge.

"Quite a surprise it was, you three showing up here. I'm surprised Buckland allowed you to come ashore," said Archie casually, acting as if he had not just barely survived a highly dangerous, life-threatening situation.

Cat did not answer, but buried her head further into the front of his uniform. Feeling a slight tremble run through her, Archie's fingers smoothed her hair gently, trying to calm her.

"You don't want to talk," he said, as a statement rather than a question. His calm and even voice was beginning to convince Cat that, for the moment, she could let down her guard and relax. She shook her head, feeling a tad guilty. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy conversing with him. But the events had taken their toll on her. She could not remember what would happen during the battle, or immediately after. She could not remember if Archie's fate was to escape from the battle unscathed, or die beside his comrades in combat. This made her anxious, and unwilling to say anything. She couldn't be sure that she would be able to hide the shakiness of her voice, or the fear in her eyes.

"I'm glad you're here, Cat," Archie said after a long pause, assuming the reason for her muteness was tiredness. Truth was, he was tired too, and it suited him just fine to hold her and run his fingers through her golden-brown hair.

Cat had tried desperately to rid her mind of the image she so detested. Nothing could free her of it; it was a fact she could not possibly forget no matter how hard she tried. Archie Kennedy, fourth lieutenant aboard the Renown, friend of many and loved by herself, would die. Death would come in a uncaring, sudden way. Yet he would better it in the end, saving many lives with his own. She could not let this happen. How she would prevent this gruesome event she didn't know. All she knew was that Archie must live on to tell tales of the Renown for many years to come—even if she did not.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, she murmured into her lover's chest, "Me too."

Meanwhile, Lottie and Wellard had drifted from the gathered crowd near the dock to wander along the grassy shoulder of the island. Every so often, Lottie had stopped to pick a wild flower, adding it to her growing bouquet. Finally, the two had situated themselves on a large boulder along the shore of the island. They now sat shoulder to shoulder, comforted by one another's closeness.

Wellard played with Lottie's fingers distractedly, trying to suppress the feeling of nervousness creeping up inside him. Though he had made it through the battle with nothing more than minor cuts and bruises, he was still worried about the outcome of this whole ordeal. Yes, he did fear partly for his own life, but primarily for the lives of others, for those involved in—one couldn't put it lightly—the _mutiny_.

If only Hobbs would quit staring at him, dammit! Just the sight of the man made him uneasy. The loyal gunner's stare held more than suspicion or a desire for vengeance. His eyes were filled with an eerie eagerness, a _hunger_. What he so strongly sought after, Wellard could only guess. The replacement of the Captain had greatly angered those loyal to the man, especially Hobbs.

Lottie's voice broke into his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. "Hobbs keeps looking at you," she said, squinting in the bright sunlight and glancing disdainfully at the gunner pacing along the dock.

"I know," was all Wellard said, his eyes never leaving Lottie's fingers, which were now threaded through his own.

Lottie pulled away her hand, frowning. "Do you know _why_?" she asked, trying to get him to look at her.

Wellard retrieved her withdrawn hand and resumed his nervous threading and unthreading of her fingertips. After a long moment of silence, he finally looked up at Lottie, who was waiting expectantly for his answer. With a sigh, he released the thought he had been holding captive for so long. "I suspect that he is very keen to assume that my role—that everyone's role, really—in the Captain's fall was not merely an innocent bystander."

Lottie glanced at Hobbs, who conveniently turned his back towards them at that moment, and glared at the back of his blue uniform. She bit her lip, thinking, and then told Wellard, "Well, let him _ass_ume to his heart's content," she said, pronouncing the first syllable of 'assume' distinctly in an attempt to bring a smile to Wellard's lips. Wellard did smile, if ever so briefly, though his eyes remained serious. "_You_ know what really happened," she continued, "And that's all that matters."

Though her words brought him some consolation, they didn't solve the problem. "Lottie, that's just it. I'm not entirely sure what-

He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed a small jolly boat docked along the stone steps. Most people had stopped their chatter to watch a highly adorned military official stepped daintily off of the boat and onto the shore.

Amy, noticing the boat as well, got up from the spot she had dubbed her 'time-out' corner. Bush, still not entirely over the fact that a woman—who he undoubtedly cared about—had deceived him and thrown herself in the face of danger willingly, wished to see Amy safe as soon as possible. After interrupting Buckland three times to insist that she, along with the other females—who in his opinion had no purpose in being here other than to chat mindlessly with their affiliates—be returned immediately to the Renown, Bush gave up on trying to get the acting-Captain's attention. It seemed that his senior officer was too caught up in the "splendid" and "remarkable" successful capture of the fort. Instead, Bush had ordered Amy to stay situated in the same place, where he could keep an eye on her. Amy, though secretly slightly flattered at his protectiveness of her self, had shot him the most withering glare she could muster. Nevertheless, she remained where she was.

However, Bush was distracted now—conversing with Horatio quietly. Taking advantage of the moment, she walked over to the gathered crowd of crew members, who were watching the progression of the Spaniard curiously. "Who's the decked-out decoration?" she muttered, and was surprised when someone answered.

"The Colonel of Santa Domingo." Bush was looking at her, his hard eyes lined with amusement. The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to keep from smiling at her silliness. This was difficult. Even when he was most angry with her, he realized that against his will, he found her quite humorous.

"Oh," she replied simply, as if she had known the identity of the figure all along. She turned her back to him, making a mental note that Bush had eyes in the back of his head. Maybe he kept them under that stupid ponytail of his.

"The Colonel has arrived, sir," announced Horatio, interrupting the acting-Captain from his long-winded and one-sided conversation with a midshipman, who was beginning to become quite uncomfortable.

"And I've arrived just in time to greet him!" exclaimed Buckland happily, practically skipping over to the Colonel. The girls exchanged glances.

The Colonel walked up to Buckland, nodding curtly at the British officers he passed. When he stood in front of Buckland, he bowed abruptly and greeted him suavely. "Hola, Senor. I am Colonel Juan-Antonio Puentes, serving as commander of Santa Domingo under his most Catholic Majesty, King Charles of Spain."

The girls were perfectly content to remain on the island until the Colonel and Buckland had decided on the particulars of the Spanish surrender. However, Bush thought if of critical importance that the women leave the island as soon as possible. He walked over to Amy, who was talking with Lottie and Cat animatedly, while Archie and Wellard watched them, amused expressions on their faces.

"All three of you best get back to the ship," he told them, and then stared them down expectantly. Understanding that he was ordering—rather than merely suggesting—that they leave, Cat and Lottie curtsied and began making their way back to the rowboats. Amy, however, did not follow.

"Bush, you're no fun," she said disapprovingly. Bush did not relent to her smirk, as he usually did, but kept the superior look plastered on his face. Realizing that she could not weasel her way out of leaving the island, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Are you coming, Amy?" called Lottie from the jolly boat.

"Yes!" she called back glumly, and then turned to Bush, "I hope you get out of your poopie mood," she muttered so that only _he_ would hear her.

Turning on her heel, she marched down to the dock, wondering how she could feel so angry at someone, and yet at the same time never want to leave their side. Growing up, she had always showed interest in boys. But when the choice came to pursue an actual relationship, she always declined. She liked the thrill of a flirtatious moment, but didn't really want a commitment. That man was impossible to get along with. Yet, she found herself drawn to him, wanting to be with him all the time—not just to flirt mindlessly. This intimidated her.

Bush tried his best to glare at Amy's retreating figure, but try as he might, he could not suppress a smile. As the boat was rowed back to Renown, Bush let out a small chuckle, and wondered how it was possible to be so frustrated with someone at one moment, and the next want to hold that person and never let go.

"_Poopie mood_," he echoed, and laughed again. As immature and odd as her words sounded, he couldn't help but find the phrase amusing.

"Did you say something, sir?" asked Wellard, doubtful that he had heard his superior officer correctly.

"Just reflecting on a humorous occurrence, Mr. Wellard. Carry on," Bush said, dropping his grin and resuming his usual indifferent, stern look.

"Aye, sir," said Wellard, suspecting what had caused the occurrence to be humorous. The boy, still wearing a curious look, left the pondering officer to join Horatio and Archie, who were avidly discussing something with Buckland.

"He wants to surrender the entire island—just like that?" asked Horatio incredulously.

"If we agree to let the Spanish citizens leave without our interference, yes," answered Buckland, frustrated that he was having to repeat this information for the third time.

Horatio put a finger to his lips, thinking. The surrender conditions that the Colonel had proposed were peculiar. The Colonel's eagerness to surrender the island was suspicious. Upon inspecting the conditions of the fort with Wellard, they had found meager provisions, something that was also suspicious. This evidence, of sorts, had led Horatio to conclude what had been suspecting for some time. The island was under siege by the rebel slave army.

Seeing Wellard walking over to them, Horatio motioned him over. Buckland was not to keen on listening to Horatio's advice these days. If he had support in his proposition, perhaps Buckland would be more likely to agree with him. "Mr. Wellard, would you please inform Mr. Buckland of what we found in the Spanish storerooms?" he asked the midshipman.

Wellard nodded, and turned to the acting Captain. "Sir, upon examining the Spanish supplies, we found a measly amount of provisions."

A dubious look crossed the man's face, so Archie added, "It's true, sir. There was hardly enough to feed a family in their storage rooms." The acting-captain frowned in thought, but said nothing.

"I think that the Spanish fort has been under siege for some time, sir," suggested Horatio firmly.

"By _who_?" asked Buckland skeptically.

"The rebel slave army, sir," said Archie, supporting Horatio's thesis.

"But I saw them off earlier this morning," protested Buckland.

"A small scouting party. The army may be a different matter, sir," said Horatio gently, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Well, then we must leave this place at once!" exclaimed Buckland, a bit louder than he should have. Hearing the alarm in Buckland's voice, Bush glanced over at the officers. What ever were they discussing?

"Sir, if I may suggest another idea," began Horatio, "I believe we could turn this situation to our advantage." He explained his thinking to his companions in quiet tones, making Bush painfully curious of what they were saying.

After much persuasion from Wellard and Archie, Buckland agreed with Horatio's plan. "Alright, Mr. Hornblower," he said, "I'm expected back on the Renown, and I would advise you to come with me. I have invited the Colonel and his wife to dine with me and our _guests_." At the mention of the females, an odd look crossed his face, as if he couldn't decide whether he was pleased or disgusted.

The officers exchanged glances and Buckland nodded to each of them, making his way back to the rowboats from which the crew had arrived on the shore of the island.

As soon as the acting-captain had left, Bush joined the whispering officers. "May I ask what this idea of yours is, Mr. Hornblower?" he asked, and Horatio repeated his plan to the first lieutenant.

Horatio's idea was to bring over a cannon from the Renown, one capable of doing an excessive amount of damage from a long distance. From the fort, they would fire on the Spanish ships, which were stationed in the bay. If all went well, the Colonel, who would be in the company of Buckland aboard the Renown, would fear any more damage to his ships—their only escape. This fear could cause him to give in to Buckland's conditions—a complete surrender, and their passage to Jamaica as His Majesty's prisoners. After Horatio had finished, Bush paused in thought before responding.

"Do you really think that one shot would convince the Colonel to surrender everything?" he asked finally.

"It may take several. But we will have the advantage. If we sink their ships, they're stuck here. That is the last thing that the Colonel would want to happen. He really won't have much choice in the matter," answered Horatio with a smile.

Bush nodded. "Then we have not a moment to lose." The officers began to organize a group of men to head back to the ship to help transport the cannon.

Back on the Renown, the girls waited in the wardroom, where the Colonel and his wife would be dining with them. Instead of the normal pewter plates issued out to the crew, full sets of silverware had been set out around silver plates, complete with folded napkins and wine glasses. A lacy white tablecloth ran the length of the wooden table. The candlesticks had been replaced with a shiny vase that held Lottie's island wildflowers. At the request of Buckland, the room had been made pretty, to say the least, by the women of the ship.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to be able to dine like this everyday?" thought Cat aloud as she walked around the wooden chairs, dragging a finger along their edges as she went. She had grown up in a humble home, and though she never despised it, she had often wondered what it would be like to have access to luxury whenever she wanted.

"I don't know. It seems a tad unnecessary, all this," replied Lottie, glancing around the festooned room, doubting its essentiality. "Though I suppose both the British and the Spanish have to flaunt their superfluous effects sometime."

Amy laughed softly from her chair, where she twirled a small white flower in her hand lazily. The day had been dragging along, and she was quite ready for it to be over. She had been up since before the sun had made its appearance on the horizon. The piece of flora she held reminded her of a different life, a different time. It was not often that she thought of the future, of the things she had left behind—her family, her friends, her place in life. It wasn't that she didn't miss it any longer, but rather that she couldn't remember it as she once had. At first, her slipping memories had alarmed her. But the harder she tried to remember the missing details, the farther they slipped away. By now she had come to accept that she would never again vividly remember how she used to live. Surprisingly, she was alright with it. After all, not everything she used to remember was good. There was a lot of bad that she had left, and was content to leave it there. Her parents' divorce, for one.

The door opened, and Amy stood up, putting the flower behind her back as Buckland walked into the wardroom, followed by the Spanish Colonel and his wife, Estella. "Here we are, Colonel. May I introduce you to Miss Hampton, Miss O'Hara and Miss Galloway, our American guests."

Each of the women curtsied, the Colonel bowed, and they greeted the American girls. When each of them had been seated, and the courses served, it was the Colonel's wife who began the conversation. "May I ask how you three came aboard the Renown?" she asked, her voice pleasant, though her underlying tone was not the least hospitable.

The girls looked at each other, unsure of how to answer. Cat answered, "Captain Sawyer granted us passage to America."

"Is this not a ship of war, rather than passage?" she replied, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. It was very clear that she suspected that the girls were more than just mere passengers. She thought it unlikely that the Captain had let three young women board his ship with the virtuous intent to return them to their nation.

Cat was unsure of how to reply, so she chose to instead give Estella a small shrug of her shoulders as she lifted a fork to her mouth. The Colonel, sensing the direction that this conversation was going, asked Buckland, "Captain Sawyer, they said. Surely not _the _James Sawyer?"

Buckland seemed disgruntled at the fact that his guests were about to discover that he was merely an stand-in for the real accomplisher, but nevertheless answered the Colonel's question truthfully. "Yes, James Sawyer was—_is_ the Captain of this ship. Though he has fallen ill."

"Oh, I would have liked to meet him," said the Colonel sincerely.

"It's nothing too serious, I hope?" asked Estella politely, though Amy doubted she was worried about the old man's health.

"Well, you see," began Buckland, when suddenly a great shout came from above them, from the Captain's chamber. The noise turned into words, shouted to the off-key tune of an ancient sailor song. Amy looked at Lottie, and they both grimaced. Sawyer had awoken from his sedated state, and was obviously not happy that his first lieutenant was having dinner guests without him present.

"…AND WE'LL RANT AND WE'LL ROAR, LIKE TRUE BRITISH SAILORS! WE'LL RANT AND WE'LL ROAR, LIKE TRUE BRITISH SAILORS! UNTIL WE STRIKE SOUNDINGS IN THE CHANNEL OF OLD ENGLAND, FROOOOOM USHANT TO SCILLY..."

"Oh, for the love of God," groaned Buckland exasperatedly as he slammed his napkin down onto the table. "Excuse me," he said abruptly to his guests and rushed to the door, closing it behind him none too gently.

Lottie tried to smile politely at the Spanish couple, who were now looking at the three of them suspiciously. The five sat in awkward silence, till finally the roaring of the Captain quieted. Buckland arrived back in the wardroom, flustered and jittery. Sighing, he tried to resume his casual, confident posture—without succeeding.

"So, how is the meal, Colonel Puentes? It is to your liking, yes?" asked Buckland pleasantly, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

The Colonel ignored the question, and instead asked, "Where are your officers, Captain Buckland?" his eyes mistrustful and mouth set in a stern frown.

"About their duties, I suspect," Buckland answered indifferently, unaffected by the Colonel's nervous manner. Sitting back down in his seat, he raised his wine glass to his lips. The Colonel looked angry for a second, and then slammed his napkin down onto the table, standing up as he did so.

"I know when I am being lied to, Captain!" he said heatedly.

Buckland still remained calm. Unfazed by the Captain's forceful manner, he replied coolly, "I am a man of my word, Colonel. I can assure you that-

The unmistakable whistle of a cannonball rang out, followed by a splash as it hit the surface of the ocean. Buckland paused, and then smiled to himself. His lieutenants had perfect timing. "Ah," was all he said, not alarmed in any way by the shot.

"What was that, Captain?" asked the Colonel demandingly, his eyes now rimmed with an emotion leaders desperately tried to rid themselves of—fear.

"A rounding shot, I suppose," offered Buckland, who continued to eat his dinner, taking another generous sip of wine.

"And what is their target?" asked Estella, the Colonel's alarm mirrored in her eyes.

Buckland took yet another sip of his wine before answering. "Your ships," he finally answered, his eyes twinkling triumphantly.

The Colonel breathed out angrily and huffed onto deck, his wife following him. The couple looked out at their anchored ships, sitting unprepared in the bay—lambs headed for the slaughterhouse. Buckland followed them out, and Estella approached the man, furious.

"Do you know what you are doing?" she cried, "Without our ships-

"You will have no means of escaping," finished Buckland smugly. Estella bit back an impolite reply. Instead, she sniffed. "However, I have a better solution. Colonel, Madam—may I offer you a safe passage to Kingston, Jamaica as his Majesty's prisoners?"

Estella looked at her husband, and the two shared perplexed frowns. They really didn't have a choice. Sometimes leaders had to make hard decisions. Ultimately, the safety of their people—as prisoners or not—was most important. Their army could no longer hold out against the rebel slaves. Their food supply was diminishing, as well as their soldiers. Though it was a painful thing to surrender, if they were stranded on the island, their fate would be far from pleasant.

"Alright, Captain Buckland—I consent," said the Colonel finally, defeated.

Buckland nodded approvingly. "Your sword, if you please, Colonel," Buckland commanded, and slowly the Colonel took his sword from his side and handed it to him somberly.

After his sword had been stowed away in the Captain's cabin, the Spanish couple were left to watch their people make their way to the ships, and finally onto the Renown as prisoners. When no one was looking, Estella shot the girls a nasty sneer before returning to her husband.

The lieutenants had decided ahead of time that all of the Spanish women would stay on the Renown, along with most of the Spanish officers. The rest of the prisoners would be kept on the largest Spanish ship, which would be overseen by Horatio.

Though his presence was not necessary, Buckland made his way back to the island. For what purpose, he would not be specific. When Amy inquired about his returning to the island, he had replied that he needed to give further instructions to his officers.

Amy, Cat and Lottie crowded along the railing of the ship, watching the nearing rowboats that carried the returning officers, crew members and prisoners. The rebel slave army had begun to launch a full attack against the Spanish fort, causing its inhabitants to escape in a panic. By now, all the boats had left the island's dock, and were beginning to arrive back at the Renown.

Amy searched for Bush among those in the boats, but couldn't see him anywhere. "I don't see Bush!" she hissed in Cat's ear, and Cat began looking for the lieutenant as well. After another moment, Amy added nervously, "I don't see Horatio, either. Where are they?"

"I can't find them either," seconded Lottie, searching the faces earnestly.

"You don't see Archie anywhere, do you?" asked Cat lightly, though worry was etched in her voice. Amy frowned, and shook her head, glancing again at the passing crew members. The girls, unable to accept that the officers were not present among the masses boarding the Renown, turned to Lottie, who had found Wellard at last, and was now making her way towards him.

Cat and Amy followed her, and before Lottie and Wellard could embrace, they both cried out to him, "Wellard!"

Hearing their alarmed voices, he turned to them. "Yes?" he asked politely. Though Cat was managing to keep her look calm, Amy's eyes were wide and frantic.

"Where. Are. They." Amy demanded breathlessly.

Seeing that the boy did not understand, Cat clarified, "Do you know where Lieutenants Hornblower, Bush, and Kennedy are?"

"Mr. Hornblower volunteered to stay behind to blow up the fort. As for Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Bush," he glanced around him to see if anyone was listening, and then leaned forward and told the girls in a hushed voice, "It didn't set right with them, Mr. Hornblower being left alone to do such a dangerous job, so they decided to stay behind as to, well, keep him company."

"Against orders?" said Amy, a bit too loudly. Hobbs looked over at them suspiciously.

"Everything alright there, Mr. Wellard?" the gunner asked, his voice edged with intimidation.

Lottie could see Wellard grit his teeth as he answered, "Yes, Mr. Hobbs."

Trying to keep her breathing steady, Amy lowered her voice, but spoke with the same viciousness, "I suppose Buckland does not plan to send out a party to retrieve them after the job is finished."

Keeping his tone impartial, Wellard tried not to sound grim as he answered, "I am not certain he believed it would be necessary." He frowned. Try as he might not to think ill of Buckland, the more the man traipsed the Renown as Captain, the more he couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't a worse captain than Sawyer had been. He had once overheard Randall tell Matthews that Buckland couldn't command a trip around the bay, much less an attack on the Spanish. He was starting to believe the dead sailor's words to be true. The finality of Horatio's orders bothered him. It was if Buckland didn't want his lieutenant to come back. There was a lot to be jealous of, after all. Buckland was twice Horatio's age, yet Horatio had accomplished much more than Buckland in his naval career. Quite frankly, Hornblower was a better officer.

By now, Buckland too had noticed the absence of his chief officers. He was not surprised to learn that they had stayed behind with Hornblower. After all, those three were so full of themselves, and of each other. They were always laughing, always talking together. Buckland couldn't help but wonder if he was one of the reasons for their gaiety, for their incessant back-and-forth wit.

Members of the crew, anxious for their superior officers, had joined Wellard and the girls along the railing, looking back at the now burning, fiery fort. Matthews and Styles searched earnestly for Hornblower, the man for whom their loyalty was steadfast.

Hobbs smirked at their worried expressions. "Now you know what it's like to lose your hero," he stated. Perhaps maybe now they would understand what it was like for him to see his brave and honorable Captain tied up and sedated with laudanum, reduced to nothing but a crazy, muttering lunatic. How his loyalty for him could never die, even though the Captain would.

Matthews was unaffected by the gunner's tone. "Mr. Hornblower will be back, you'll see," he said, though he felt his confidence shrink slightly as he watched the ablaze cliff tops, smoke billowing into the skies.

"Dear God," began Amy softly, without knowing what to pray for. Let them be alive? Let this all just be a dream? Help her calm down? Fear fell over her, causing her heart rate to accelerate and breathing quicken. She felt her lip quiver slightly, and bit it angrily. Amanda Galloway did not cry. Especially not over arrogant, insufferable, arduous lieutenants like William Bush. But deep within her, Amy knew she could not continue denying what she knew to be true. She was in love with that proud, charismatic lieutenant. A single tear ran down her cheek as she realized what she was afraid of. She didn't want to lose the only man that had managed to capture her heart without even trying to do so.

It was Lottie who spotted them first.

"Look! There, up on that cliff!" she shouted, and the anxious crew followed her pointed finger with their eyes.

Sure enough, three figures stood at the edge of the cliff, preparing to jump off of it. The crew held their breath as they watched the figures jump off of the cliff and into the ocean. An audible splash echoed throughout the bay, and moments later the lieutenants emerged from the water. A cheer went up from the crew, and Hobbs stared in disbelief at the very much alive figures treading water. Matthews just smirked. Mr. Hornblower always found a way to get out alive—it was just who he was. It was impossible for that man to die.

A rowboat was sent out to retrieve the swimming officers, and minutes later they climbed back aboard the Renown, dripping wet. Cat rushed into Archie's arms, insisting that she hadn't been scared at all—that she had full confidence in him. However, her trembling hands and wide eyes told Archie otherwise. Nevertheless he held her. She didn't seem to care that he was causing her entire dress to become soaked, as his own clothing was. All she wanted was to know that he was alive.

Bush was the last to climb onto the Renown. As he made his way across the deck, Wellard shook his hand and crew members knuckled their foreheads. Even Hobbs tipped his hat respectfully and said a simple, "Sir." Everyone seemed genuinely glad to see him. He felt a smile arise as he progressed through the gathered crowd.

Nodding to those who passed him, he made his way to the quarter deck. Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around. It was Amy. Her eyes held anger, a common emotion many used to mask their fear. Bush saw through her disguise easily. Amy was, after all, easy to read. Her shoulders were trembling, and her hands were clenched.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again, William!" she yelled, her voice both agitated and traumatized.

"You were the one who did the scaring," he said decisively, careful not to let his surprise show at her use of his first name.

"I didn't jump off a bloody cliff!" she shrieked, becoming only more hysterical.

"Now look," he protested, but Amy prevented him from saying anything further.

"You blame a girl for wanting to see what it's like, to be near those she cares about-

Wait, was she saying that she cared for him? He grabbed her shoulders, trying to calm her. "Amanda, you're being _quite_ unreasonable. I-

"…But it's completely fine for a _man_ to scare her out of her wits," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just as long as she-

"Amy!" he interjected, but to no avail. She continued her banter, keeping her voice raised. After listening to her carry on about how hard it was, being a girl, and how wrong it was, men being in charge, he stopped listening to what she was saying and glanced at her lips.

She had such plump, red lips. Surely they were as soft as they looked. What was he thinking? He blinked, and then against his better judgment, decided that he had nothing to lose. It would shut her up, after all. And he couldn't deny that he would probably enjoy it.

"Amy," he said again, knowing that she wouldn't let him interrupt her. He leaned down, and swiftly brought his lips to hers. The kiss did not last long, but it was enough to send a pleasant tingle down Amy's back.

Bush pulled away an instant, and the sailors watching cheered. He grinned at them briefly before barking, "Carry on, all of you!"

Amy raised a timid hand to her lips, momentarily stunned. At first, she was appalled to think that the man who had been so harsh with her earlier had dared to kiss her. But in the next moment, she knew that this felt right. Looking up into Bush's eyes, she surprised herself by smiling. A nervous, ecstatic giggle escaped her, and Bush returned her happiness.

This was going to be interesting.

**Yep, it finally happened. It still bothers my mind. Cheers, and Happy Summer! And to my Aussie friends, Happy Winter! READERS + REVIEWS = ONE HAPPY AUTHOR. **


	13. Renowns, We're Taken!

**Firstly, my gratifications to all those who review, thank you so muchly. You people keep me going. :) Onto the twelfth installment. Thank you for tuning in. Reviews highly recommended, as they give you the full experience of fan fiction. Warning: This chapter is LONG. You might want to grab a snack.**

_Chapter 12: Renowns, We're Taken!_

Two days after the incident at Santa Domingo, the Renown had made her repairs and was moving steadily towards Kingston, Jamaica. It was a calm night. The breeze blew through the sails lazily, a crescent sliver shone high in the sky. Most of the crew slept peacefully in their swaying hammocks.

After the Renown had set sail from the island, Buckland found Sawyer muttering and mumbling miserably on the floor of his cabin. He felt conflicted. As much as he hated the man for his brutal tactics and cold criticism, he felt a tinge of pity for him regardless of his past iniquities. To quell his conscious, he ordered Sawyer to be released from his bonds. Upon seeing his freed hands, Sawyer had begun to weep wretchedly. Buckland had left the room feeling that the world no longer made sense.

Taking advantage of Sawyer's release, Hobbs had come to visit Sawyer for the past few nights. He would send the marine guard elsewhere, and take Sawyer out around the ship, hoping the fresh air—and familiar surroundings—would uncover the Captain's memories of the night of his fall. Gently, he would ask the man about the night of his accident, hoping he would be able to remember the events of that night. Unfortunately, he had not made much progress in retrieving valid information.

With Buckland snoring away in his cabin, Hobbs snuck into the Captain's quarters once again to visit his former, senile captain. Opening the cabin door, Hobbs walked swiftly over to Sawyer. The man sat in a chair, oblivious to the world around him, reading. "Sir," he began, and the man looked up at him.

At first his eyes were cold and unfeeling, as he often appeared. Upon recognizing his loyal seaman, his eyes lit up with warmth. "My good gunner, Hobbs! So nice of you to come see me!" he cried, very glad to have company that he could trust.

"I've come to inquire what you remember about your fall, sir," he said, paraphrasing what he had said to the man the past two nights. For too long Hobbs had suspected that the Captain's fall was not a mere accident, but intentional and mutinous. If the Captain could remember who had pushed him, perhaps the offender would be condemned. Hobbs would smile at his, or her, hanging.

"I fell?" Sawyer asked, and then said more firmly to himself, "I fell." He struggled, groping his mind for something familiar. All was black. He remembered _nothing_. He asked the gunner, "How did I come to fall, Hobbs?" and Hobbs gritted his teeth, trying to be patient.

"Perhaps someone pushed you, sir?" he suggested, hoping the words would trigger something in the senile Captain's memory.

"Yes, perhaps I was pushed," said the Captain uncertainly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to capture the memory that had evaded him for so long. "Then again, perhaps not. I don't remember…" he trailed off, lost in thought.

"Who was it, sir?" Hobbs sprung on him suddenly, wishing the Captain would be able to recall anything—a flash, a glimpse—of that night.

The Captain pursed his lips, thinking. Had someone pushed him? He wouldn't put it past those weak-kneed, stubborn officers of his. Then again, maybe he had just fell. His mind began to wander again, out of reality and into flashes of his past. This time he visited his late-wife, Helena. She was so beautiful. In fact, he could hear her voice, drifting throughout the back of his mind. "_Oh Jim, look at you!" _she would always say to him when he returned home, bearing medals and souvenirs from his journeys. He smiled, seeing her hand reach out and touch his face. It had been so long since he had heard her voice. Surely she would speak to him after all this time.

Hobbs quirked an eyebrow, confused. The Captain had been silent for some time now. "Sir?" he prodded, and Sawyer blinked, as if suddenly coming back from a long train of thought.

"Oh, it's you, Hobbs! How good of you to visit me," he greeted him, as if their former conversation had never occurred.

The gunner let out a sigh. This was going to be a long night.

Down a level, Amy capered in Bush's cabin, a glass of wine perched precariously in one hand, singing yet another sea chanty. She had learned several folk songs from her fraternizations with the sailors below decks, which both impressed and startled her companion.

"_Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain. For we've received orders for to sail for ole England, but we hope in a short time to see you again_!" she sang audaciously, grabbing Bush's hand and pulling him up to dance with her. At first he declined, but Amy was determined. Upon her threatening to sing another song after she had finished her current banter, he reluctantly accepted. The two whirled around together, and within two more verses of the sea song, Bush joined in with her singing.

"_From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues_!" they finished together, and Amy laughed till she felt that she couldn't stop. Soon her sides began to ache. Even Bush couldn't help but laugh along with her. Still shaking in her merriment, Amy fell into Bush. Together, they sat in his hammock, and Bush grabbed his glass that sat on top of his sea chest.

"I didn't know you knew that song," said Bush, somewhat surprised.

"I'm full of surprises," replied Amy simply, and looked at Bush, an broad smile on her face. The two of them laughed again, unsure of the reason for their jollity. It was very late—past the time anyone should be awake. But neither had wanted to retire to their bunks, so they had stayed up socializing.

After she had finished laughing, Amy sobered for a moment. "You know, with all this," she said, gesturing to the wine glasses, and then to Bush and herself, "I can almost forget about everything that's happened, and everything that's to come." She frowned, as if suddenly remembering all that was wrong in the world, and how it seemed to outweigh all that was good.

Bush's grin faded, and he wrapped an arm around Amy's waist. "Now you listen to me," he said seriously, his eyes stern. "I want you to enjoy tonight—live in the moment. Don't worry about tomorrow, tomorrow will worry about itself." He poked her side, tickling her.

She let out a squeal, shoving his hands away from her sides. "That worrying bit—that's a verse somewhere. Jesus said it," said Amy, recognizing the comforting words.

Bush laughed. "It's from Matthew, I think."

"Well, here's to me, not worrying about anything for tonight," said Amy, raising her glass and clinking it against Bush's. It was a peaceful night, and it did feel satisfying to have a respite from the constant morbidity that plagued most of the Renown's crew. What was the worst that could happen?

Further down, Wellard sat on the sea chest the girls had claimed for their belongings, leaning back against the support beam wearily. Lottie's head laid on his chest while his fingers rested in her tangled hair. Both of them had awoken around the same time. Unable to return to sleep, they sat awake, facing the darkness together. Little had been said between them. Regardless of whether their silence was due to exhaustion or perplexity, both feared the other leaving their side.

Wellard was exhausted, yet unwilling to fall asleep. There was no point in fighting insomnia hour after hour, listening to the deep snores that arose from his fellow midshipmen, reminding him that he was still awake. He would soon be on watch. For once, he was looking forward to it. At least on watch he would have something other to think about than the Captain, Hobbs and what awaited them in Kingston.

Though the tension of the crew had begun to swell, some had begun to relax, looking forward to Jamaica as a refuge from their time spent at sea. The officers tried to push negative thoughts from their mind, especially Buckland, who had convinced himself that the Renown had been headed for disaster, they had done the right thing, and there would be no need for a trial of any kind.

Wellard couldn't relax, not when his mind was filled with a consuming sense of foreboding. In Kingston, they would have to face a court martial, there was no doubt about it. Anyone else who thought otherwise was kidding himself. Hobbs was confident that Sawyer's fall was the result of foul play, not coincidence. He was also confident that Sawyer would remember who of the three officers had pushed him into the hold. This common knowledge didn't seem to faze Hornblower or Kennedy, or even the girls. Wellard, however, was restless. Something had to be done; surely he wasn't the only one that realized that.

Lottie shifted beside him, pulling her knees to her chest and repositioning her head on his shoulder. Though her eyes were shut, and a peaceful look crossed her face, sleep was far from her mind. For most of the night she had slept soundly, only to jolt awake from the same reoccurring horror. It was the same every night: a dream in which everything seemed alarmingly real.

_It's always the same room. Evil stays outside, and noise echoes in the background. Here it's quiet—maybe even safe. This room is familiar. She knows she's been here before. Then, suddenly, gunshots ring out behind her. All at once, blood covers everything—the floor, the walls. A body hits the floor, and slowly she approaches it. She looks down, and every time she sees Wellard, pale and blood-covered. His eyes, still open, hold no life. She feels his cold skin, and screams._

With her scream, she always woke up. Usually she could return to sleep, after convincing herself that despite the dream's evocativeness, it hadn't and wouldn't really happen. Tonight her restlessness had developed into insomnia. After two hours of trying to fall asleep without success, she gave up, dressed and walked out into the Midshipman's Berth—only to find Wellard, still awake, sitting at the table. He invited her to sit with him, and eventually the two had migrated to the sea chest.

All evening, Lottie could tell there had been something that heavily burdened Wellard's mind. Those dark eyes were pondering deeply. At dinner he had hardly eaten anything. It was only upon her insistence that he finished his plate. He said very little to her, and Lottie guessed that he wasn't listening as intently as he usually did. The question was, what was he thinking about? She presumed it was the same subject that seemed to plague almost everyone onboard—what awaited them in Kingston. The inevitable trial haunted her as well, though she tried desperately to remain optimistic, for Wellard, if no one else. Despite the combined effort to smother the scandalous rumor, a wild whisper had flown amongst the decks that perhaps the Captain had not fallen. Perhaps someone pushed him after all.

"Something's bothering you," she said softly, as her shut lids opened to reveal light eyes, pooling with genuine concern.

Wellard stopped stoking her hair, and after a baited pause he answered, "Yes." His voice revealed no emotion. It wasn't that he wanted to hide his fears from Lottie. On the contrary, he relished in the fact that he was finally able to openly share his thoughts with someone without receiving reprimand or disdain. However, his thoughts had begun to stray to the topic of sacrifice. There were two men on this ship that he owed a great debt to—time and time again they had risked their lives for his own. For them he would give his own life, if necessary, to save them from the noose. He couldn't help but think that sometimes death is necessary. Sometimes there has to be sacrifice in order for the greater good.

There was only one way to address the situation, in his mind. One way to make certain that the Captain never remembered who, if anyone, had caused him to fall into the hold. Lottie wouldn't like his solution, though—she would surely be against it. He knew it would be wiser not to tell her, so reluctantly, he concealed his thoughts.

Lottie looked up at Wellard, a little agitated by his one-word response. His conversation had been like that a lot lately. He never seemed to want to give her honest answers. But instead of lying to her, he would simply choose _not_ to answer. This was becoming increasingly infuriating. Maybe he thought he was sparing her by not sharing his worries, somehow protecting her from the ongoing madness.

"It wasn't you," she said at last. A moment later, Lottie realized how dumb she sounded, but Wellard seemed to grasp her meaning.

He blinked, surprised at the abruptness of her statement, and turned away from her searching gaze. Deep within himself, he knew he had not pushed the Captain—though laudanum, pressure from Hobbs, and his own fears had tried to suppress this truth. "I hold no fears on my account," he told her, and he felt the tenseness of her body relax slightly. "But there were six of us down there," he murmured, "Any one of us could have done it."

"No one pushed him!" Lottie whispered adamantly, wishing for the millionth time he would just quit pondering the possibility that the Captain had been pushed. Seeing the taken-aback look on Wellard's face, she felt a pang of guilt at her tone. "He fell. It couldn't be helped."

"How can you be so sure?" he replied without thinking, wincing as he realized how accusing his words sounded.

Lottie became flustered. "I know because—because," she sputtered, sighing exasperatedly and burying her head in her hands. This was the third time today that she had caught herself in a quarrel with the one she loved—over something like _this_, too. The constant fear of the unknown was blighting the crew of the Renown, particularly Wellard. "I'm so tired of this. We're sick with anxiety and constantly jumping at each other's throats. When is this going to end?"

Wellard kissed her forehead apologetically, not wanting her to be upset. He knew he wasn't the only one concerned about the future. It was one thing for him to worry. He was a member of the Renown's crew, and guilty by association. But Lottie, a mere bystander, had no part in their questionable acts. He didn't want her to worry; he wanted her to be happy.

"Or, I suppose the question is: _How_ is this going to end?" Lottie whispered, her arms folded across her chest. Wellard pulled her closer to him, running his fingers through her hair and murmuring soothing assurances in her ear until she reluctantly let her head fall back onto his chest. Lottie let out a breath, and Wellard returned to his lost train of thought. Though his mind was far from relaxed, he had decided how to solve the matter. It wasn't pleasant, but it had to be done.

"Let's take a walk, Lottie," he murmured in her ear. "Perhaps then we'll be able to fall asleep." Nodding tiredly, Lottie rose, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her. Wellard linked his arm with hers, and she held on tightly. The two walked out of the Berth in silence, both contemplating the future. It was better to worry together than to worry alone.

Lottie and Wellard were not the only ones incapable of falling asleep. Cat had went to bed early, quitting her familiar company sooner than they would have liked her to. She had woken up late into the night—or rather, very early in the morning—and found herself unable to fall back asleep. Upon hearing the bells, she knew that those on watch would soon be called back to their berths. Perhaps Archie would be among them.

She walked up on deck briskly, the soft breeze immediately relieving her lungs of the stuffy air she had inhaled below decks. Leaning against the side of ship, she looked up at the moon which was still bright and shining, despite the chaos of the world. It was odd. No matter how many different changes the world went through, some things still remained constant. The sun still rose every morning, lighting up the world in the promise of a new day. The moon still shone throughout every night. Most importantly, Cat knew that God would never change. He would always love her, always forgive her, and never leave or forsake her. Even in this alternate universe, with memories of her past fading and a future so uncertain, she knew that God was in control. That gave her hope. Somebody knew what was going on, and what was going to happen—even if she didn't.

Two arms slid around her waist, and Cat was embraced from behind. She tensed, ready to whirl out of their grasp, but relaxed again as she realized it was only Archie.

"It's awful early for you to be up, Cat," Archie observed teasingly, nuzzling his head into her shoulder. Cat leaned back against him, feeling safe and content in his arms.

"I couldn't fall back asleep," she explained tiredly. Funny, it was. She felt so weary, yet her keen anxiety made sleep impossible.

Archie turned her to face him, leaning down to kiss her softly. Cat pulled away after a few moments, turning back out towards the sea. Archie's lips grazed the side of her face, tickling her.

"It's a very calm night, " Cat commented, "As if nothing's happened; as if nothing's going to happen."

Archie lifted his head from her shoulder, looking up at the night sky with her. Cat stole a shy glance at him, noting that his blue eyes were very bright, and very captivating, under the light of the moon.

"Welcome to the quiet before the storm," he commented quietly, his voice suddenly serious. Cat made no reply, choosing to dwell on the truth of his words.

After a moment, Archie let out a sigh. "Wellard's uptight," he began, keeping his voice low, though the chance of being overheard at such an hour was slight. "Only yesterday we discussed our situation. I think it's that gunner Hobbs. He makes him nervous."

"Hobbs is out to get him—or all of you, if he can," said Cat, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's wants justice for what's been done to Sawyer."

Archie silently agreed. Part of him could almost understand the hate that Hobbs had for the lieutenants, and for Wellard. He was fiercely loyal to his Captain, who had treated him well for many years. However, that loyalty seemed to have blinded him to the madness that had overtaken James Sawyer. Now, he was out for revenge, threatening Wellard whenever possible, and bringing up the possibility that the Captain was mutinied against and pushed into the hold.

"I'm not worried—about the trial, about Hobbs, about anything," Cat continued, sounding more confident than she felt. "The truth, no matter how unbelievable, must be accepted by the court. It's their duty," she said vehemently, though she knew that the sad truth was many innocent witnesses were slandered simply because of their class, race, or gender.

"I agree," Archie replied. "Though I cannot help but wonder what the outcome will be." Bells sounded, and the watch ended. Archie's eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled Cat from his embrace, taking her hand as the two walked back down below decks. The two began to walk down a deserted hall, passing a dim lantern every few feet.

"Someone might be found guilty of mutiny, and of pushing the Captain," Archie said, voicing the worry aloud.

Cat stopped walking, looking Archie firmly in the eye. "No one can _be found_ guilty. No one _is_ guilty."

"Yes, Cat, I know that," replied Archie wearily, rubbing his temple jadedly. She was missing his point. Even though no one was guilty, the court would not be eager to accept that James Sawyer was mentally unstable. The man had been a hero in his day, once taking three French frigates in a single morning. That said, one could only hope that the court's sense of understanding was higher than their sense of honor. "But someone might _have_ to be found guilty," Archie said, his face grim.

Cat didn't know how to respond. Never before had she seen him so grave. "What are you suggesting, Archie?" she asked nervously.

The grim look on Archie's face faded slightly, and the lighthearted glow returned to his eyes. "All I was stating is that sometimes, for a greater good, sacrifice-

"Is necessary," finished a voice, Cat turned to see Wellard and Lottie, walking behind them. Wellard looked utterly drained, his freckles stood out more than usual on his pale skin, and his eyes were dark and brooding. Lottie did not look much better. Her face was pallid, her eyes weary.

All four exchanged glances, knowing exactly what the opposite pair had been discussing. In that moment, Cat realized that in this moment, they had an understanding. All of them had been there to witness the Captain's fall. They all knew that no one was guilty of pushing that Captain. Because of this common knowledge, Cat felt more sure of herself. As long as _they_ knew the truth, there was no reason for them to doubt, and hopefully no reason for the court to doubt them either.

"Hello," she greeted them, and at once the momentous silence vanished. Dim smiles lit their faces. "Couldn't sleep?"

Wellard and Lottie exchanged glances, confirming Cat's guess. "Yes, I'm afraid it's impossible," answered Wellard for the both of them.

Archie sighed knowingly. "So are we. Care to join us in our insomniac strolling?"

Up in Bush's cabin, Amy dangled her feet off the edge of his hammock, wondering how this night could get any more perfect. Her throat felt pleasantly warm , her mind was at ease and her sides ached from laughing. Bush had been telling her about his childhood, and some of the stories were quite amusing. He had told her how he had been forced to eat turnips when he was little, and how he wouldn't touch them today. Amy had replied that she had never eaten a turnip in her life.

"When I was a boy, I was going to be apprenticed to my uncle, a blacksmith," Bush said. Amy scoffed. "No, it's true!" he protested, and Amy laughed. "I think if I hadn't gone away to sea, that's what I would have been."

"A blacksmith?" Amy asked doubtfully, having a hard time imagining him being anything other than a naval officer.

"I like being able to repair things," Bush said honestly.

Amy's smirk faded a little, but her eyes still held the disbelief of Bush ever aspiring to be a blacksmith. "Growing up, I always liked to have tea parties," she said, recalling the memories fondly. Seeing the incredulous look on Bush's face, she added, "And then run around outside, playing games like a wild child."

"I can't really see you sitting still, sipping tea, staying _calm_."

"Well, I can't really see you hammering away at pieces of metal either," she replied, smirking.

"Well, perhaps we've both been a bit prejudice, then," suggested Bush, smiling.

Amy simpered. "I suppose we have."

Still smiling, Bush leaned down, kissing Amy softly. He pulled an inch away, and chuckled. "You know, when you're not defending the rights of women or biting my head off about some other matter, you're actually pretty decent company."

Amy put a hand over her heart, pretending to be hurt. "And do _you_ know," she retorted, "That when you're not being a pompous prat and rubbing in my face the insignificance of women in society, you're actually not half bad to be around?"

Bush shook his head. Amy never missed a beat. "Alright, I suppose I deserve that." He snaked an arm around her waist, and Amy leaned against him. She was having a bit more difficulty keeping her eyes open as the night went on. It had to be fairly late.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Does it matter?"

Amy grinned into his shoulder. "Not a bit."

Bush lifted her head up to his, planting his lips on hers. William Bush was interesting. He had a younger brother who was already married with several children, and another who attended school in London. His parents were dead leaving him a fair amount of inheritance. His wages were enough to support a wife, and perhaps, a family. Yet, he remained without a girl to call his own. It wasn't that he didn't desire a companion, it was just that he was hard to please. None of the women he ever met made him want to pursue them—not like Amy did.

It occurred to Amy that this man was one heck of a kisser as his lips trailed down the side of her face. William Bush was a fine man. It had been a long time since she had been in any sort of relationship. It wasn't like she hadn't longed for someone to love, but rather no one wanted to love her. Sure, many boys wanted to _like_ her, play with her, have fun together—but never for very long. Such was the downfall of beauty. She never knew whether someone was interested in her because she was pretty, or because they liked her for more than her outward appearance.

Suddenly, Amy pulled away. "Did you hear that?" she whispered to her companion, all giddiness fleeing from her eyes.

Bush nodded seriously, and pulled Amy from the hammock, blowing out the lantern sitting on his sea chest. Two escaped Spanish prisoners cautiously entered the room, approaching the hammock quietly. Bush lifted his pistols from their place on his sea chest and raised them. Finding nothing in the hammock, one solider began to turn around, and Bush shot him swiftly, killing him instantly. The second soldier turned around, musket raised, and Bush fired his second pistol.

He looked back at Amy, whose eyes were wide.

"They've escaped," she whispered, and Bush, for a moment, felt nervous. He involuntarily shook himself. "We must warn the others—everyone aboard must have heard those shots."

He nodded, grabbing his sword from the wall. Before he left, he turned back to Amy, "I would tell you to stay here, but I know you won't."

Amy pouted. "Oh ye of little faith," she said, shaking her head disappointedly.

He paused a moment, debating with himself whether or not to bring her with him, and then begrudgingly beckoned her with his hand, "Come on then!" he urged, and Amy beamed.

The two of them raced onto deck, Bush shouting with all the volume he could muster, "Renowns, we're taken!"

A deck below, the foursome walked, talking in quiet tones. Hearing the commotion above, they exchanged glances. Archie stopped abruptly, causing Cat to stop in mid-sentence. Archie shoved her quickly against the wall, Lottie and Wellard quickly following suit. Cat was ready to protest when she heard footsteps in the distance. Seven Spanish soldiers, armed with muskets and swords, whispered rapidly in their native tongue as they advanced to the wooden set of stairs. Up they went until they disappeared from their sight.

Archie let out a long breath, but did not completely relax. He turned to Wellard. "It will be better if we separate. I'll meet you on deck," he said, barely waiting for the confirming nod from Wellard before grabbing Cat's hand and fleeing.

Wellard grabbed Lottie's hand, leading her to down the hall to a dark corner, where she would be ignored by any wandering prisoner and be out of harm's way. "Stay here," he told her, and slowly backed into the shadows. Now seemed the best time to execute what needed to be done, while everyone was distracted by the escaped prisoners. It was better that he do it quickly, lest he lose his nerve.

"Where are you going, Wellard?" Lottie asked quietly, though she already knew the answer. Her reoccurring dream was still present in her mind, causing the same anxiety to rise up in her again.

Her voice was barely audible, but Wellard could not bring himself to ignore the earnest question, so he stopped. He considered lying, or avoiding the truth at least. There was no need for her to be involved in this. However, after looking at her he realized he didn't have to say anything—the look in her eye told him that she knew what he planned to do.

"You don't have to do this," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes I do," he countered, trying to mask the fear in his own voice. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, but Wellard forced his eyes from her gaze. He wasn't going to let her stop him—this had nothing to do with her. Abruptly he turned to leave again, only to feel Lottie's hand on his arm. Her touch was delicate, yet impossible for him to shake off.

"Please, Herry," she whispered, the desperation in her voice palpable.

Wellard hesitated for only a moment. He tried to keep his tone forceful as he told her, "Don't try to stop me." Shaking off her grasp, he walked away, unable to bring himself to look back to her.

It was only then, as the boy walked away, that Lottie saw the pistol he carried. Its cold, metal barrel reflected the dim lantern light. Suddenly, the same images of her dream—the gunfire, the blood, the dead, the screams—flashed furiously in front of her, more vicious and vivid than ever before. In that moment, Lottie realized that her haunting vision was not imaginary, neither was it premonition. It was a _memory_, a reminiscence that she thought had long ago escaped her.

Sliding down the wall, Lottie sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Vainly she tried to calm the rush of emotions inside her. Now was not the time to cry, or do anything else rash. Already she could hear the beginnings of warfare up on deck—the hurried patterns of many feet, the clashing of swords and the piercing shots of gunfire sounding all around. She had to stay calm.

Wringing her hands nervously, she stood up, looking down the dark hallway that Wellard had retreated into. Making up her mind, she stood slowly and began to follow Wellard's path, knowing that it would lead her to the Captain's cabin. She could not sit by and do nothing. Wellard's fate was in her hands—only she could reverse facts that had already, in a sense, occurred.

Up in the wardroom, Cat sketched nervously by the light of a lone candle. She was using charcoal—as by now the nub that had once been a slender pencil was long gone. By now the rest of Renown's crew was aware of the Spanish prisoners escape. She could hear muffled noises all around her as sailors and soldiers alike fought roughly throughout the ship—each trying to defeat the other.

In times of distress, Cat could usually content herself by concentrating on something other than what was going on outside. By making a situation seem less dire or daunting, she was able to stay calm throughout the whole ordeal and face her challenges with a clear, reasonable state of mind. It was Archie that she was drawing—or at least attempting to. She could see his face clearly in her mind, his face wrinkling pleasantly in a charming smile.

With eyes barely open, she drew the outline of his face. Upon looking at it, she noticed that the lines were too sharp, making Archie's face thinner than it really was. Annoyed, she tried to soften out her lines, but the harder she tried to save her drawing, the worse the picture became. Coal dust flittered onto the remaining white space she hadn't filled, and shadows from a flickering candle made Archie's face hollow and gaunt looking. In fact, the grinning face was so thin and sharp that it looked dead—a skeleton with tightly stretched skin, glowing eyes, and a wild smile.

Unnerved by the hideous sketch she had drawn, she crumpled the paper quickly, trying to keep her breathing calm. Maybe it was because of the unrest she had been feeling inside, or maybe it was because of how serious everyone had been lately—but tonight, the night had never seemed more intimidating. This time, she couldn't focus on anything else than the fact that her love, Archie was in danger.

Cat knew she couldn't sit by, watching events unfold without trying to prevent them. Frenetic thoughts filled her mind, causing all caution and reason to fade. He would die. She knew it. But perhaps she could change the fate of the man she had grown to love so dearly. She might be the only one.

Rising from her chair, she left the safety of wardroom. Trying to ignore the desperate cries and maddening shouts around her, she made her way to the top deck. By now, the cold of the night was fading, and the sky had turned a dull orange. The sun would soon rise. The smoke from fired weapons hovered over the dead that lay in tangled array across the deck. Shots and shouts sounded around her as swords sliced through air and flesh. Led by Horatio, the British seamen aboard one of the Spanish frigates had come to aid the Renown. Though the prisoners had the element of surprise, the battle was proving to be in the British's favor.

Blinking, Cat peered through the haze, trying to discern one uniform from another. Painfully, she watched as the powder monkeys ran out into the thick of it, their not yet broken voices too quiet to be heard above the battle noise. They were so eager to be in a real battle, so eager to become men. Her eyes moved swiftly over the jumble of men and boys, till at last she spotted Archie among them. He was sword-fighting with yet another Spanish prisoner, and had just managed to achieve the upper-hand when a shot rang out behind Cat.

Cat turned and saw the Colonel, groping the ropes along the quarter-deck as he tried to remain standing. Blood poured from the dying man's mouth, and a smoking gun fell from his fingertips as he staggered and fell—dead. Cat whirled her head back around to see who had been the victim of the Colonel's final shot. To her horror, she saw Archie clutching his side, a confused yet determined look on his face. In an instant the look was gone, and Archie returned to his combat, launching himself at the Spanish solider with full force. After he had killed the solider, Archie rested only a moment before walking back out into the heat of the battle. Cat realized that Archie was going to continue fighting—pretending he was fine until he could no longer fight. She couldn't let that happen.

Oblivious to those around her, Cat rushed to Archie, tripping over limbs and sliding on the slick wood. At last she reached her lover, who leaned against the side of the ship wearily, his sides heaving. "Archie!" she yelled above the noise.

It was a miracle that he heard her. He turned, and blinked with surprise at her presence. Cat gave him no time to protest as she grabbed his hand, dragging him down below decks.

"Cat," he called, but she ignored him.

"You're hurt. You must come to the sick bay," she insisted, but Archie stood still, unaffected by the tugging on his arm.

"Leave me," he said, "I'm fine." Cat could clearly see the lie in his eyes—he hadn't even attempted to hide it.

Feeling anguish rise up inside her, Cat begged frantically, "Come with me!"

Archie heard the desperation in her voice, but still he replied, "I'm fine." Just as he was about to return to the top deck, he stumbled. Cat rushed to help him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Realizing how exhausted he was, Archie didn't protest as Cat led him to the sickbay. He couldn't bring himself to refuse her help. Never before had he seen such an intense fear in her eyes. She was afraid for him.

Upon reaching the sickbay, Clive dressed Archie's wound quickly, having many more wounded to attend to. Cat helped him into a hammock. Wincing, Archie laid down. Though he was in pain, he managed to smile up at Cat, who's face was white with worry. "I'll be alright Cat. Everything will be alright," he said, sounding more sure than he really felt.

For some reason, those words soothed Cat's fear. They were such simple words, yet they gave her the shrewd hope that maybe—just maybe—everything would end well.

Lottie hid in the shadows, waiting until the Spanish soldiers passed her by before continuing down the hall to the Captain's cabin. Cautiously she emerged, and resumed her journey to the cabin. She could feel her heart thud loudly and rhythmically inside her. Maybe she was being hasty. What if her dream was simply a dream—nothing more? This thought didn't change her mind. Deep inside, she knew that this time her dreams were too real, too reminiscent of something she had witnessed in a different time, a different life. Wellard had become so dear to her; he had done so much for her. She didn't know how she would bear it if he died. This was something she had to do to.

A hand reached out and grabbed Lottie's shoulder, roughly spinning her around. Lottie looked up to see none other than Hobbs, his glowering suspicion tangible "What's a fine miss like yourself wandering about during the heat of battle? Surely Wellard wouldn't leave you alone, _unprotected_," he said lowly, and Lottie tried her best to glare at him and disguise the panic inside her.

Keeping her voice even and unaffected by his intrusiveness, she replied, "Mr. Hobbs, I can assure you that-

"Where's he gone?" interrupted Hobbs brusquely, his eyes boring into Lottie's. "And don't lie to me," he added, his eyes shining expectantly.

Lottie shifted her eyes nervously, unsure of what the gunner hoped to accomplish by locating the midshipman. "Honestly, Hobbs. Haven't you harassed him enough? Why can't you just leave him be?" she asked, appearing indifferent to Hobbs's evident impatience.

His grip on her shoulder relaxed a bit, and he sighed. "I know that we disagree on many things, Lottie, but I know that we both want to ensure his safety," he paused, as if debating whether to continue, and then added, "As well as the Captain's."

Taken by surprise at both his gentle tone and the use of her first name, Lottie didn't know how to respond. Hobbs had expected her silence, and regarded it as her unwillingness to trust him. Wellard had not made his appearance on deck—and he had a sneaking suspicion of his whereabouts. The fear in the girl's eyes had confirmed his guess. He began to trudge past her, but Lottie stopped him.

"Let me go with you," she whispered earnestly, and Hobbs, for once, didn't refuse to cooperate. The two walked down the hall quickly, and upon turning the corner were met with a group of prisoners, trying to open the locked door to the Captain's cabin. Both parties eyed each other for a moment before Hobbs rushed at the soldiers, shouting madly as he tried to make his way through them and to the cabin door. Though Hobbs put up a decent fight, he was badly outnumbered and was shoved to the floor.

The following events passed rapidly. The Spanish rammed their muskets into the window of the cabin door, shattering its glass pane. A solider reached his hand through the jagged edge, unlocking the door and shoving it open. As if in slow motion, the door opened, and Lottie saw the two nearest soldiers raise their muskets. A long and terrified scream left her lips, and terror consumed her. She ran madly, panic blinding her sense of reason. With surprising force she shoved against the solider nearest to her, knocking him off balance as he fired his musket. Despite her efforts, the shots still met their targets, and the prisoners began to retreat triumphantly.

Once the solider regained his balance, he pried Lottie off of him, pushing her to the ground savagely. He kicked her side coldly, and said something to her in rapid Spanish that was not courteous in the least. Pain seared the side of her face, and tears flooded her vision. A wooziness overcame her, and for a moment the noise of the ongoing battle faded, and red lined her vision. Then, in the next instant, the noise returned—only now she heard shouts of joy and cheering. The battle was over, and the escaped prisoners had been defeated. Through blurred vision, she saw red-coated Marines surround the prisoners, roughly escorting them back to the brig. Hobbs rushed past her, hurrying into the cabin, only to find his captain dead on the floor, shot through his heart.

Lottie was overtaken by consternation. Feeling no joy in the Renown's triumph, she raised herself from the floor, impervious to the throbbing of her cheek or the bruise forming where the solider had kicked her. She stumbled into the cabin, groping the walls as she made her way to the fallen. Clasping a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out in her dolor, she looked down, horror-struck at the sight before her. Wellard lay next to the body of Sawyer, scarlet pooling over the bullet hole just below his left shoulder. A muffled sob escaped her, and on her hands and knees she crawled to her love, prostrated with shock.

Suddenly, a muscle in the boy's face twitched involuntarily, and Lottie felt hope soar inside her at the tiny movement. She put her head to his chest, and to her utmost relief, she heard the soft beat of his heart. That constant thud had to be the most precious sound she had ever heard. Tears now streamed down her face, but Lottie didn't seem to notice. She gently raised Wellard's head and set it in her lap, smoothing his unkempt, dark hair.

As a tear rolled off of her cheek and onto his face, Wellard's eyes fluttered open. Blinking dazedly, he looked up at the girl above him, his love for her shining through the pain in his eyes. "Lottie," he said, his voice faint. Despite the burning sensation he felt on his left side, he managed a weak smile.

"I'm here, Herry," she murmured, returning his smile.

He frowned slightly, noticing her tears. "Don't cry, Lottie. I hate to see you sad," he said, his voice growing weaker. Lottie sheepishly wiped her face, trying to contain the rage of emotions she felt inside. Enervated, Wellard shut his eyes again, and Lottie resumed her nervous stroking of his hair.

Hobbs approached the girl, lifting her hands away from the boy's face. "Help me bring him to the sick bay, Miss," he told her, and Lottie nodded compliantly. The two of them lifted Wellard and carried him to the sick bay in silence. For the first, and perhaps the only time, the two of them worked together, instead of each opposing the other.

Up on deck, the smoke was finally beginning to clear. It's ghostly miasma slowly drifted upward into the coloring sky, fading into the glowing horizon until it was as if had never been there at all. Groans of agony arose from wounded, who laid desolate on the deck—now stained with black and crimson. Amy numbly walked through the valley of the shadow of death, searching the empty and pain-filled faces for William Bush.

She was angry with herself for losing sight of him. He had vanished into the tumult of banging, slashing and killing, quickly lost among so many faces. Now earnestly she searched for him, praying that he was still alive. A figure that laid some distance from her caught her attention, and she felt her heart leap into her throat as she recognized his familiar face. Her mind filling with dread, she hurried to him, collapsing at his side.

Seeing her out of the corner of his eye, Bush lifted his head slightly. Blood oozed from a long, dark slash below his ribs, and he pretended not to notice her horrified, staring eyes as he squinted up at her. A pain-filled smile lit his face as he greeted her with a short, "Amanda." His baritone voice was still had its usual edge, though not as strong as it usually was.

For once, Amy didn't feel a prick of annoyance at the sound of her full name. She returned his smile, her increasing apprehension soothed. He was alive, and with a little medical attention she was sure he'd recover soon. Hurriedly, Amy shouted into the thinning haze, "Doctor Clive!", knowing that the man was most likely somewhere on deck. Turning back to Bush, she grasped his hand reassuringly. He was going to be alright. He _had_ to be alright.

"I've never been more happy to see you in my life," Bush said, speaking slowly and softly. Each word seemed to be a difficulty for him. "I was going to tell you something before those damn Dagos came in," he murmured irritably, closing his eyes tiredly.

"Tell me later, after you've rested," Amy advised, and Bush frowned.

"No—I have to tell you now," he insisted.

Seeing that it would be harder for him to fight against her than to say whatever was bothering him, Amy surrendered. "Alright," answered Amy, and behind her the Doctor hurried to the wounded officer.

"I was going to tell you that, that I," Bush sighed, frustrated that his tongue wouldn't cooperate. "I love you."

Amy's eyes widened with surprise, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. It wasn't as though she hadn't heard the simple words before—but never had they sounded so honest, so true. There had been a time when Amy wasn't sure whether or not William Bush was capable of loving. Then again, there were times when she didn't feel she was capable of loving either. Caught off guard, a hesitant smile spread across her face as she told him, "I love you, too."

The two gazed at each other, smiling and feeling happiness swell inside them. A moment later, a voice broke through their thoughts. "I do hate to disrupt anything, but I would be entirely grateful if you were to move to the side, Miss Galloway," Doctor Clive said, his voice tight and impatient.

Amy moved, but Bush kept a tight grip on her hand as Clive leaned over him, inspecting his wound. He pulled out a long needle and thread from his bag, preparing to sew up the slash. Though Amy was far from squeamish, she turned away as Clive worked, not at all eager to see the operation.

In spite of its losses, the Renown was soon able to resume its course to Kingston. The ship sailed over the open waves of the Caribbean, the warm sun beaming down upon it despite the horrific events that had occurred hours before. The dead had been sewed into their hammocks and now rested in their watery graves, at peace. The wounded had been attended to and now swung in hammocks in the sick bay. Bush, Archie, and Wellard were among them, sleeping despite the morning light peering in through cracks and windows.

From a shadowy corner, Hobbs observed them. Long ago had Amy and Cat left the side of the lieutenants to return to their bunks, weary with fatigue. Since their departure, Bush and Archie had tried to rest and ignore the searing soreness of their newly bandaged wounds, welcoming the serenity of sleep. Lottie was the only visitor who remained, sitting on a stool and slumping against a support beam wearily as Wellard swayed back-and-forth in his bunk, sleeping fitfully. His hand grasped Lottie's, and every so often he would twitch, and his hold on her hand would grow tighter, a slight frown crossing his face as he wrestled the disturbing images flooding through his mind.

Captain James Sawyer, former captain of the Renown, was dead. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Hobbs had heard the unforgettable shot, the bullet piercing his beloved captain's heart. Hobbs grieved the man's death silently. Upon finding the dead Captain, Horatio had said to Hobbs, that he was sorry that his last command had been taken away from him. That James Sawyer was a leader of men, and he died in battle.

Though Hobbs felt no relief, no joy over his Captain's death, he couldn't help but think that perhaps now the man was at peace. The screams in his mind had been silenced, the demolition of his mind had ceased. He no longer had to fight the rage that plagued him. His earthly battle was over. Hobbs couldn't help but wonder if his dying was a better alternative to whatever humiliation awaited him in Kingston, or the rest of his days.

Hobbs had told Horatio, "Its all over now, sir. All over."

The problem was that it wasn't—not really. Despite his captain's death, Hobbs was still keen on ensuring that Sawyer fall into the hold had not been coincidental. Justice had to be carried out to the guilty party. Yet, it was hard to feel anything but pity as he looked over at the pallid figure of Wellard.

Making up his mind, he stood from his corner and made his way to Lottie. Putting a gentle hand on her shoulder, he instructed the exhausted girl to go to her bunk. Too tired to protest, Lottie rose and went back to the Midshipman's Berth. Sitting on the stool she had abandoned, he leaned back against the wooden beam, observing the sleeping figure beside him. The boy's breathing was soft and shallow, the rise and fall of his chest hardly noticeable. The injury he had suffered was worse than the other officers—Hobbs could tell by the look on Clive's face as he had dressed the wound.

Hobbs told himself that all he wanted was to see the boy well enough to testify in Kingston. If it wasn't for his need to have the boy as a witness at the trial, he wouldn't care whether he lived or died. But deep inside, Hobbs knew that wasn't true, just as many things weren't true—about the Captain, his command, and his fall. Soon, it wouldn't matter what he perceived as true. The truth would be revealed soon enough.

**Yes, the chapter is finally over. Sorry for the length, but an author's got to do what and author's got to do, you know. Review anyone? Xie xie. **


	14. The Michael Song

**Trillions of danke to all those who review. Love you all! I've been reading my earlier chapters and am appalled by my atrocious writing. So many typos... (bangs head on desk repeatedly). Thanks for sticking with me. I am forcing myself to finish the story before editing. You're welcome. Anyway, from me to you, chapter thirteen. Review, please. That would be lovely. **

_Chapter 13: The Michael Song __**– **__Guest Starring: Admiral Pellew_

The bells sounded, and a new day began aboard the Renown. The scintillating sun sparkled down upon the sailing ship, yet not even it could warm the hearts of those who waited in trepidation of their arrival in Kingston. Jamaica was less than fifty miles away, and upon consulted the navigator, Buckland was able to safely assume that the Renown would be docking in Kingston before the day was over.

Several days had passed since the Renown's skirmish with the Spanish prisoners. Scarcely a moment had passed without one of the three girls attending the side of a wounded officer. There were times when Lottie stayed by Wellard's side for hours on end, hardly bothering to eat or sleep. She would sit in silent vigil until she was relieved by Hobbs, who would often catch her falling asleep at the boy's side.

Oftentimes Hobbs and Lottie had discussed matters together, and for a few minutes they were able to forget their difference of opinion and treat each other civilly. Hobbs admired her dedication to the lad, and found himself feeling sympathetic for the girl. She was still very young, yet she had endured more death, violence and morbidity on this voyage than most women were subjected to in their entire lifetime. Because of it, there was a knowledge in her eyes hidden beneath her youth and innocence—an understanding that had never been present before.

"Today's the day. After this, everything changes," said Amy cheerlessly to her companions as she dressed that morning. Fixing her hair in a dirty mirror that hung on a tired, wooden beam, she told them, "There was a time when I wanted to leave this God-forsaken vessel, but now I am reluctant to do so. It's been a sanctuary for me, for all three of us—no matter how unpleasant at times."

Cat was conflicted over whether or not to be pleased by the prospect of seeing land by the end of the day. Not only did she have a trial to contemplate—there was also the fact that she was an imposter in this time. There was nothing for her anywhere in this life. The Renown had become her home. When the time came to leave it, she had no idea where she would go. Maybe if Archie... No, she could not allow herself to hope. Pushing these thoughts from her mind, she pulled a comb through her hair.

Lottie sighed in response to Amy's remark. Reluctantly, she began her day. Crawling out of her warm berth, she realized just how tired she was. Cat and Amy had let her sleep longer than usual, both knowing how late the girl had stayed up for the past few nights.

"Oh," Lottie exclaimed suddenly, realization showing on her face.

Cat and Amy looked at Lottie curiously, pausing their hurried preparation. "Don't you know what day it is?" she asked them, and a small smile lit her face as she pulled back her hair. "It's December 25th," she explained, and upon receiving blank looks she prompted, "_Christmas Day_?" before leaving to go to the top deck.

Despite the misleading warm weather of the Caribbean tropics, it was, in fact, Christmas Day. Though the holiday did not bring about the distinct cheer to the crew as it usually did, the cook prepared a slightly higher quality meal than usual, and the crew received more than their usual ration of grog. The remaining officers were invited to join the official Captain, former acting-Captain Buckland, and the girls in his cabin for the midday meal. They ate in somber silence, not able to mitigate their increasing unease. It would not be long until the Renown docked in Kingston, Jamaica. The unanswered question floated throughout everyone's thoughts: _What was going to happen? _

After politely excusing herself from her company, Cat went to the sickbay to visit Archie. The injury had taken its toll on the man. He felt a keen restlessness inside, one he couldn't shake despite the weariness that overwhelmed him. Sitting down on the short, familiar chair next to the battered hammock, she gazed upon the face of the man she loved. Bright blue eyes blinked drowsily up at her, and a crooked grin crossed his face. He loved it when she visited him. Just the sound of her voice was able to lessen his pain. Her touch was always gentle, whether wiping his forehead, lifting his head to drink or simply holding his hand. Best of all, he had something other to concentrate on than his grim reality. It didn't matter what they said, as long as they avoided the topic they were about to face.

"Hello there, Cat," he greeted her, his calm voice trying to disguise the pain that stabbed deep in his chest.

She saw through his false smile, as she always saw through every false thing she did. Cat was the attentive sort, and he loved her for that. Not everyone noticed the lesser things, yet she brought out the deeper thoughts, the hidden meanings behind seemingly empty words. "You're in much pain," she stated, her brow creased. "I could ask Dr. Clive to-

"No, Cat. Laudanum is the last thing I need," Archie told her as firmly as he could manage. Clive have offered him the opiate several times already, and at each occasion he refused. It was true that laudanum would dull the pain for a while, as well as send him into an oblivious stupor. It felt it was better for him to go without the drug.

"But," she began, hating to see him suffer needlessly.

"Trust me Cat—it is far better to be in pain and of sound mind than painless and insensible," he assured her. He gestured discreetly towards Wellard's hammock as Clive leaned over the half-conscious boy, lifting his head as he poured a generous amount of the milky liquid into the boy's mouth. Cat grimaced. Lottie wouldn't like it if she knew that Clive was sneaking Wellard more doses than was necessary.

"I've brought you something, Archie," she said, changing the subject. Archie let out a short chuckle, trying to mask the intensity of the discomfort he felt inside.

"Oh?" was all he said, lifting his head slightly to peek at the neatly wrapped parcel in Cat's lap. Smiling, Cat shyly unwrapped the parcel, revealing a small pastry-like biscuit. Lottie had persuaded the cook to make the slightly-sweet dessert. There were sparse ingredients left on the Renown—the journey had nearly extinguished its supplies. However, the cook had saved back small amounts of certain ingredients, such as sugar, flour and salt. Between the determined girl and the stubborn cook, the two managed to make the sweet biscuits, filling them with raisins and cinnamon. The dish had not turned out perfectly, but its consumers were more than satisfied, having not tasted anything so sweet in several months. The biscuits had disappeared quickly, but Cat had secretly saved one back for Archie.

Immediately, Cat began making nervous excuses for its less-than-appealing appearance. "I know it's not great—but it's better than that awful hard tack, and-

"Cat," said Archie, holding out his hand. Cat smiled sheepishly, placing the biscuit in its cloth wrapper into his outstretched palm. Food had been far from Archie's mind, but upon seeing the biscuit, he realized that he was, in fact, hungry. He bit into the biscuit, closing his eyes as he savored its soft, sweet middle. Such a treat brought back memories of long ago Christmases, when he was young and had not a care in the world. Life was harder now—but he didn't regret a single choice he had made. "I love you," he said, saying the words he had long held in his heart as he felt Cat's cool hand brush the stray crumbs off of his mouth.

His words caught Cat off guard, and for a moment her hand froze over his lips. A blush spread over her face as she glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard his confession. A midshipman caught her eye, and he touched his forehead to her, smiling as he did so.

Still blushing, she mumbled, "I—I love you too, Archie." Archie's lips parted, kissing her fingertips that still lingered over his mouth. He smirked, his eyes still closed.

"You know, you're adorable when you blush, Cat."

Cat removed her hand, letting out a faint giggle. "Go to sleep, Archie!"

Thus ended the Christmas celebration. The Renown's crew resumed their duties, and soon the lookout called out from the crow's nest, "Land, ho!". Slowly, the ship made her way into the Kingston harbor, and an anchor was lowered over the side. The crew bustled about, loading cargo into rowboats and hauling it ashore.

Wellard laid in his hammock, for once not feeling the familiar sting from his shoulder. Instead, a drowsiness hung about him, though he could hear a distinct, excited buzz around him. Something was going on up on deck. Officers were shouting orders, men were hustling to and fro—he could _feel_ it.

Lottie, for once, was absent from his side. He never tired of her presence, rather, it was comforting just to know she was there, whether he was conscious or not. Seldom did they talk. If Wellard tried to make conversation, Lottie would urge him to rest and save his strength. She was wise, his Lottie was, always knowing what was best for him. But he missed their laughter, missed their flirtatious chatter and serious discussion. Wellard welcomed sleep, and he knew he needed it, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on healing when he knew that the Renown was coming closer and closer to Jamaica.

Behind him, he heard the familiar tread of light footsteps on the creaky floor, and at once he knew it was her. Lottie's face appeared over the top of his hammock, and despite the dizziness he felt, he managed a smile. He reached out a pallid hand, and she stooped to kiss the back of it, holding it gently in her own. Her eyes danced with a nervous excitement. Something was most definitely happening, that much was evident. He blinked, trying to clear his bleary mind. For some reason, he felt more sleepy than usual—nearly numb, in fact. His eyes kept going in and out of focus. The room was moving again, or was that just the regular movement of the ship?

"Are the waves rough outside, Lottie?" he asked.

"No, it's quite calm today," she replied, wondering why he had asked. His hammock was nearly motionless. It was odd that he would ask her a question that had so obvious an answer. If the waves had been rough, he would have felt the sway of his bunk.

A bemused expression formed on her face, and moments later she let out an irritated sigh. "He's given it to you again, hasn't he? That's the third time today!" she muttered heatedly, throwing a scowl in the general direction of Dr. Clive. Lottie was furious. The man handed out his opiates as if they were _candy_. She did not doubt that the Captain's suffering had been caused, in part, by Clive's readily administered drugs.

Drugs that reduced pain were a helpful discovery—but only if they were used wisely. It was too easy to become reliant on the pleasant numbness they induced, and slowly fade away. She was not _against_ the use of such drugs; she disagreed with the generous amount that Dr. Clive issued to his patients.

"Give me what, Lottie?" asked Wellard, who was now staring at Lottie curiously, his usually clear brown eyes glazed over with bleariness. Only then did Lottie realize his sleepiness had not derived from his weakness, but rather the aftereffects of a narcotic.

"Laudanum," she said finally, and Wellard blinked again, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You don't remember?" she asked, knowing how easy it would be to for someone to give him a dose while he was half-asleep and hardly capable of swallowing, much less giving his consent.

"I will, once this bloody ship stops moving," he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes again.

"We'll be ashore soon," assured Lottie, reaching a hand brush his lengthy bangs out of his eyes. His hair had grown considerably longer during their journey. She really should cut it—his bangs now hung past his eyebrows. Maybe in Kingston, when he felt better, and after the trial was over, she would unleash the scissors.

No sooner had she spoken when Hobbs appeared beside her. She raised an eyebrow in question, and he answered with a small nod of his head. The Renown was safely anchored in the bay and supplies had been taken ashore. Now, it was time to load the wounded into the row boats and situate them in Kingston. As Lottie looked around, she could see Bush and Archie being helped out of their bunks by sailors. Two more seamen approached Wellard's hammock, and Lottie reluctantly released Wellard's hand and stepped back from his bunk.

"Lottie?" he called quickly, trying not be alarmed by the fact that he could no longer saw her soft, sweet face. All he saw was grim, dark sneers. Black and red swirled his vision as he faintly felt himself being lifted and laid down again. What was happening?

"They're taking you ashore, Herry. I'll see you in Kingston," Lottie's voice broke through the surrounding surrealism, and Wellard saw a glimpse of the hem her dress as he was lifted into the air once more and carried to the jolly boat. The relieving numbness he had experienced moments before was fading, and already he could feel the returning ache to his shoulder as he bounced and bumped in the stretcher.

_I'll see you in Kingston._ That's what she'd said, and Wellard knew she was never one to break promises. He would see her again soon. Maybe then this pain would ease.

Amy, Cat and Lottie stood on the deck, watching with fretful eyes as their sweethearts were rowed ashore. "I wonder what the high-and-mighties are going to think when they realize that James Sawyer is no longer the captain of the Renown," murmured Amy to her companions.

"They're in for a big surprise," said Cat, and Lottie nodded in agreement. One could only hope that whoever first heard about the missing captain would be reasonable and not abruptly assume the worst-case scenario: mutiny.

Ashore in Kingston, in a suave, pleasant dinning house, traveling naval officers enjoyed their holiday by mingling with affluent travelers and residents of Jamaica while feasting on delicacies and delights. Admiral Pellew sat among two gentleman he had once served with in his youth, wine glass in hand, chatting pleasantly about the joyous times they had shared in the past. At once, their pleasant banter of women, gambling and politics was interrupted by a nervous-looking servant-boy.

"There's a man to see you, Admiral Pellew. It's urgent, the gentleman says."

Pellew sat his half-full glass down on the wooden table, not at all graceful as he rose from the table. "Oh, bother," he thought, slightly annoyed by the interruption. After all, it _was_ the biggest holiday of the year, and a man like himself deserved a break every now and again. The servant-boy led him to the lobby, bowing as he left to return to other duties.

The entrance to the inn faced away from the afternoon sun, and at first Pellew saw no one in the room. Then, he heard a cough, and a timid, middle-aged man walked out of the shadows, a fashionable cane in one hand and a logbook in the other. Pellew recognized him as the overseer of the harbor. George Whidbey—or was it Whitman?—was in charge of checking all ships that came in and out of Kingston. He handed his reports over to the naval officials that resided in Kingston, allowing them to deal with any irregularities. At the moment, Pellew was one of the naval officials above the overseer. The Admiral wasn't particularly fond of the man. His voice was high-pitched and whiny sounding, and he constantly seemed to dig his nose into affairs that were none of his concern. However, he was tolerated because he was very good at snooping out anything the least bit scandalous or foul in regards to information of the voyages of returning ships, and was, in that sense, helpful to the cause of established justice.

"Are you aware of the fact that it is a holiday that I hope to enjoy without interruption, Mr. Whidbey?" he asked, irritated by his presence.

"It's Whithers, sir," the man reminded pointedly, shoving his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose. "And I do apologize for my untimely interruption-

"Untimely indeed," muttered Pellew, but it appeared the official hadn't heard.

"…But my matter _is_ pressing, sir."

"And just what is this matter of such great importance?" asked Pellew skeptically, half-expecting the man to say that the privy had overflown or that the navy uniform style was going to change.

"The Renown has docked, sir," began the man, nervous with excitement.

"I am aware that ships dock here, Mr. Withers. Must I be informed of every ship that happens to harbor in Kingston on _Christmas Day_?" replied Pellew, the aggravation evident in his voice.

"You are also aware that the Renown is the ship of Captain James Sawyer?"

Pellew was a bit put off by the man's comment. "I _do _happen to keep up with current events. That is, after all, an _Admiral's_ responsibility. Good _God_, sir! The man's nearly as famous as Nelson himself," he replied heatedly, studying the paintings on the wall with vague interest.

"Sir, I am most sorry to say that James Sawyer is dead."

"That _is_ a pity," said Pellew seriously, knowing that the man had been known for his great courage and the loyalty he inspired in the hearts of every man aboard his ship. Pellew had never had the chance to meet him, though he had heard incredible stories.

"Sir, you don't understand," said Whithers quickly, raising a gloved hand to the bridge of his nose as he paused for dramatic effect. "After consulting the officers aboard, it appears the first lieutenant was in command prior to Captain Sawyer's death, sir."

Pellew hesitated a moment, not at all pleased with his implying tone. "Are you suggesting that he was removed from command _before_ his death?"

The man bobbed his head. "Yes, Admiral Pellew."

Pellew pursed his lips in thought, but didn't reply, so Withers continued. "I've instructed lieutenants Buckland and Hornblower-

"Hornblower, you say?" and at that moment Pellew recalled that the man who was practically a son to him had been assigned to that vessel. A fear raced through his mind. If Horatio had been involved in something as black and unjustifiable as mutiny, Pellew wasn't sure that he would be able to save him from the noose—the penalty which all mutineers paid.

"Yes, sir—to wait for further instruction from you at the naval office. I do believe we should issue an inquiry as to the reason for his removal. I would hate for something unjust to go unjustified."

"Indeed," murmured Pellew distractedly, worried thoughts forming on his mind as he grabbed his effects from the doorman and climbed into the waiting carriage. Naval juries were never keen on pardoning the guilty, or those assumed guilty. Mr. Hornblower had better have a good reason for being involved with the removal of a highly esteemed captain—a _damn_ good reason.

At the naval office in Kingston, Horatio Hornblower paced back and forth, hands clasped tightly behind his back, cool and collected. He, along with Buckland, had been summoned by the overseer of the harbor to meet with the highest ranking officer in the city, an Admiral, who was involved in the naval court process.

By now, the wounded seamen had been transported to a military medical building that was currently not in use. Beds were lined down its corridor, and a local doctor was notified of their arrival. The doctor brought over supplies, and together he and Clive changed bandages, inspected wounds and gave out laudanum. Several sailors from the Renown's crew stayed to help out, handing out blankets, pillows and food to their injured comrades.

The girls had desperately wanted to go with Horatio, and though Buckland was against the idea, Horatio brought them ashore. Because of the years he had spent at sea, Horatio was used to sailing for months on end. He couldn't help but smile at the excitement that arose from the females as they took in their surroundings with eyes wide and mouths open. Though he was usually somewhat awkward around women, he had grown to care for the three as he would his own sisters. He wanted the best for them, and he wasn't the only one. Archie talked incessantly about Cat, and shamelessly revealed the relationship of Wellard and Lottie, as well as the recent pair of Bush and Amy.

Amy sat in the lobby of the naval office, nervously holding hands with her two companions as she looked around at the high ceiling, decorated walls and tiled floors with keen interest. It had been a long time since she had seen anything other than the grimy wood, dark corridors and cramped halls of the Renown. This was all new to her, yet familiar at the same time. It was if she was stepping into a picture from a history book.

Several minutes passed before the tall, wooden doors were opened by two Marines standing outside. An older gentleman with gray hair walked smartly through the open doors, paying no attention to the girls as he strode to the office in which Horatio and Buckland were waiting. Whithers shot a sneer at the girls. He didn't like women—especially younger women. They only caused problems and made things more difficult than was necessary.

Pellew shut the office door behind him, the sound echoing throughout the mostly empty building. The girls looked at one another, and then at the closed door. They did not have to wait long before Pellew reemerged, followed by Whithers, Horatio and Buckland.

"But sir," Whithers was saying, showing obvious displeasure at whatever the Admiral had decided. "I must insist that we begin this inquiry _immediately._"

"The tale these men have to tell will be the same in the morning. I can be sure of _that_, Mr. Whithers," replied Pellew, rubbing his forehead jadedly as he made his way to the lobby. The three girls rose as he entered the room, and Pellew finally noticed them.

"Who are these ladies, Mr. Whithers?" he asked quietly, the confusion evident on his face.

"These are the passengers I mentioned, sir," answered Whithers, staring disapprovingly at the girls, as if everything was their fault.

Pellew studied the figures before him. It was only on the rarest occasion that women were brought along for a voyage. Usually only the wife of the Captain or a special female passenger was allowed on board, though sometimes the wives of the ship's officers stayed on the ship. Thus, the presence of three unmarried young women aboard the Renown puzzled him.

The girls looked at the ground, feeling terribly awkward as the nonplussed Admiral stood there, gawking at them. Horatio came to their rescue. "Sir, this is Miss Galloway, Miss Hampton and Miss O'Hara," he introduced them politely, each girl curtsying at the mention of her name.

"Charmed," was all Pellew said, bowing his head slightly. After a pause, he voiced aloud his conclusion as to the reason the girls had been allowed on board. "Were you three employed aboard the Renown?" he asked bluntly, and Horatio and Buckland's eyes widened.

"Sir, I must protest," Buckland began weakly, but to no avail.

"Well, were you or were you not?" asked Pellew again. Noticing the squirming of Hornblower and Buckland, Amy finally understood the meaning of the Admiral's question. Her eyes widening with realization, she decided to appeal to the Admiral's good nature and make herself look as frail and innocent-looking as possible.

"No, sir. Upon my word we were not," she told him timidly, and wiped away an invisible tear as she began their story. "Captain Sawyer found us after we were shipwrecked. He saved us from certain death," she said, putting a hand over her heart for dramatic emphasis.

"So you swindled him into taking you aboard without consulting the Admiralty, did you?" concluded Whithers icily, his eyes gleaming with arrogant triumph.

"Not at all, sir. He pitied our unfortunate circumstances and promised us passage to America. We had no other option but to go with him!" Amy cried, pulling a handkerchief from her dress pocket and burying her face in it, verklempt.

Taking her friend's action as a cue, Cat placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, letting her own eyes fill with tears. "We never imagined our journey would turn out like this," she said softly, looking at the Admiral with pleading eyes.

Pellew's eyes softened. He could only imagine as to why Sawyer had wanted them aboard. Perhaps the man was simply doing his good, Christian duty. Then again, perhaps the man had other, less-than-righteous reasons for bringing them aboard. As he gazed into their anxious faces, he was reminded of his granddaughter, Dorothy. She couldn't be much older than they were. He would do anything for his granddaughter. Picturing his little Dorothy in such a nerve-racking situation made him feel more sympathetic towards the girls, though part of him was still annoyed that they were there at all.

"A likely story!" exclaimed Whithers, squinting suspiciously down at the girls.

"Sir, I can vouch for their character," said Horatio to Pellew through gritted teeth, disliking the harbor official very much.

Whithers shot Horatio a contemptible look. The lieutenant obviously didn't understand women. They were conniving creatures who lied and plotted to achieve their own desires. He was skeptical of their said _innocence_. "Mr. Hornblower, I very much doubt-

"That is quite enough, Mr. Whithers!" snapped Pellew, leaving his contemplation to return to the problem at hand. Whithers shrunk a little, and chose to glare at his shoes. "I am sure that the Renown has a very long, winding tale to tell, as do these ladies. But for God's sake man, it's _Christmas_!" Which reminded him, he still had a card game to finish. He had laid down a good three hundred pounds; if he didn't join in again soon, he'd lose that money!

He turned back to the girls, who by now were displaying various phases of staged duress. Amy was practically bawling into her soaked hanky, and Cat and Lottie both sniffed, leaning on each other for support.

A pang of sympathy stabbed Pellew's heart, and he told them kindly, "I will have your belongings transported to Harrington House, where you three can stay comfortably while this matter is sorted out."

Whithers looked up, startled. "Sir! Harrington House is where _gentry_ guests stay. Just who is going to pay for their stay there? Certainly not the Admiralty!"

"I'll pay for it," replied Pellew calmly, though there was an edge to his voice. The overseer's vexation was soothed by the Admiral's statement, and his shoulders relaxed.

"Thank you ever so much, Admiral," breathed Cat, not sure that she had been more grateful in her life. Amy's wilted composure immediately lifted, and she dabbed at her eyes.

Pellew responded with a tight smile, and summoned a naval secretary from one of the above offices. He then gave the secretary the task of escorting the girls and their belongings to Harrington House and helping them find comfortable rooms. After this was completed, he was free to go home and enjoy the rest of his holiday. The secretary had not been pleased at having to work on Christmas, and was very appreciative of being relieved of his duties early.

After they had left the lobby, Pellew addressed the officers. "Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Buckland, I believe our conversation for today has ended. We will continue this matter in the morning."

"Yes, sir," replied Buckland and Pellew excused himself, Whithers following dutifully behind him.

After the two had climbed into the carriage, Pellew rested his chin on one hand, closing his eyes as the carriage bumped ungracefully along the road. "Mr. Whithers, I want you to halt all vessels from leaving the island for the next few days. Nobody must leave Kingston—is that clear?"

"Very much so, sir," he answered, and then paused, thinking. "I do hope this matter doesn't turn out to be serious."

"Me too, Whithers. Me too," murmured Pellew.

Harrington House was a tall and respectable building, with white-washed walls and thick vines curling up its sides. It was a place where those staying in Kingston could stay in a private, safe place. Or, that is what the secretary had explained to them. Most of the residing guests were those traveling onto a further destination, such as America, and mainly consisted of aristocrats and high-ranking military or navy officers. There were few guests staying there at the moment, so it was easy for the girls to find three available rooms.

It didn't take long to bring up their belongings. In addition to the trunk they stored their few possessions in, Cat has a small satchel that she kept her art supplies in and Amy had a guitar that she had recently obtained from a flirtatious encounter with one of her many sailors friends. After the girls had settled comfortably into their rooms, they decided to spend the few remaining hours of sunlight with those that they loved.

On a whim, Amy decided to bring her guitar with her, thinking it might bring some sort of entertainment to the unhappy bunkers. All three rushed over to the building in which the wounded Renown crew members were situated. Amy was the first to enter, looking slightly flushed due to the fact that she insisted on racing to the building, leaving both Cat and Lottie behind. Earnestly she searched the rows for Bush, passing many familiar faces. Some smiled at her weakly, though most were resting. She couldn't help but think of the many faces that she would no longer see, now that death had taken them. It was rather disconcerting, knowing that some of the same men who had winked at her playfully and laughed along with her at amusing jokes would never wink or laugh again. Even though she knew where her eternity would be spent, the ending of life was something she would never fully understand.

It wasn't long before she found Bush, staring blankly at the crumbly ceiling above him, a dull expression on his face. "Hey you," she greeted as she sat on the edge of his bed. He flicked his eyes lazily from the ceiling to her. His eyes lit up, though his brow creased.

"It's about time you got here. I've about grown and shaved off a beard three times," he muttered grumpily, though it was apparent to Amy that this was his way of expressing how much he had missed her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

Amy couldn't help but laugh at his exaggeration. "I haven't been gone _that_ long," she protested. "Blame that harbor overseer, not me."

"I don't care for that man. What was his name? Whittle? Winston?"

Amy giggled. "Whithers, I think. I don't care for him either—he's very judgmental," she said, rolling her eyes as she recalled his initial reaction to seeing her step onto the dock. His expression had been something of confusion and revulsion. It was as if her mere presence had completely tipped his world upside-down. And they were mistaken for harlots _again_. Was it the corset? The fact she wasn't wearing a bonnet, and her hair was down? Maybe the men here were just sexist.

"Let's not talk about him," she said quickly, wanting to forget the experience altogether.

"How did you manage to get your hands on that?" asked Bush, stretching a finger to point at the wooden instrument resting next to her.

"A friend," she answered vaguely, running her fingers gently down its neck.

"He just gave it to you?" asked Bush incredulously.

"I paid a price," she said, shrugging. Bush arched an eyebrow, his eyes flickering.

"What was the price?" he asked, smirking slightly. Knowing Amy, it wouldn't have anything to do with money. No, there were other, better, faster forms of currency that Amy used to get what she wanted. Where money wasn't accepted, smiles, twirls, and kisses were—at least by most of the male population.

Catching his drift, Amy laughed as she realized what he was thinking. "Nothing like _that_, William!" she exclaimed, and tossed her hair over her shoulder haughtily. After all, she _did_ have standards.

A wave of doubt crossed Bush's face. "How can I be sure?"

Amy stopped smiling. Leaning down close to him until her nose nearly touched his, she looked him squarely in the eyes. "William Bush, you don't need to worry about me. I plan on sticking with you."

Smiling, Bush sighed resignedly. When she put it that way, there was no room for doubt in his mind. "You should play me something," he said, resuming the study of the inside of his eyelids and sinking back down into his pillow.

Not needing further encouragement, Amy picked up the guitar and began plucking each individual string, turning the knobs each until each string's sound was to her satisfaction. She had been playing guitar since she was thirteen years old. Music was one of the biggest things she missed about her life in the future. It was fun dancing along to jigs and chanteys, and she did find the music of this time period enjoyable. But after hearing every drunken and sober variation of "Farewell Spanish Ladies" repeatedly for the last few months, Amy was keen on finding another source of melody. Besides, half-shouting, half-singing nonsensical words along with jolly seamen as a violin played furiously just wasn't the same as throwing your head back and forth as guitars strummed, drums bashed, and a singer sang incoherent lyrics. Yes, she did miss the hardcore of the future: the loud volume, the thump of the bass against her chest, the both creative and repetitive patterns and melodies.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to herself, as well as not arouse questions from Bush, Amy decided against playing anything too, well, _unnatural_ for that time period. This factor severely limited what she could play, and ruled out songs from many of artists she had enjoyed.

Suddenly, a song came to mind. Several years back, Cat, Amy and Lottie had all fallen for the same, lovable, hilarious guy. Each had done their share of flirting, but Amy was by far the worst. As it turned out, he had a girlfriend from a different school, and their chances with him were shattered. The resulting disappointment had developed into a song.

"Do you want to hear 'The Michael Song'?" she asked, already fingering the first chord.

"Hmm," was Bush's only reply. Amy took that as his way of saying, "Please do."

As Amy began to play, Bush pushed his eyes open to look at her. Her fingers strummed passionately, her left hand switching from chord to chord easily. Softly, almost hesitantly, she started to sing the words they had written, staring at nothing in particular as she sang.

She had a nice voice, thought Bush. The style she added to it was unfamiliar—he could honestly say that he had never heard someone, much less a woman, sing as she did. The melody was happy-sounding, though the lyrics were somewhat bittersweet. It appeared that the object of many girl's affections already had a sweetheart. Bush smiled as Amy told the woes of every girl who wanted to be a part of this boy's romantic life. It wasn't until the end of the song that he learned why it was titled 'The Michael Song'. She ended it by saying that this boy was what every girl wanted, but just couldn't have. _He_ was Michael.

She drew out the last chord, until finally resting her hand over the strings, ending its resonating sound. Bush, as well as a sailors who had stopped their chatter to listen, applauded.

"You know, I'm rather glad this Michael fellow had someone else," Bush told her, a smirk returning to his face.

"And why would that be?"

"Because that means he couldn't have you," Bush explained sincerely, and for a moment the two simply smiled at one another. Soon, Bush broke the silence. "Now come here and kiss me. _Properly_," he demanded, the grumpy overtone returning to his voice.

Amy giggled, but complied, oblivious to the fact that onlookers gaped with open-mouths as she lowered her lips to Bush's. There were some things that would never change about Bush: his arrogance, his causality, and his ability to kiss exceedingly well. She made the kiss last as long as possible, waiting a lengthy time before pulling away. After all, who knew what would happen tomorrow? For now, she was content to live in the moment, enjoying every second of it.

Several beds down, Cat sat tensely on the edge of Archie's bed, unconsciously twirling a piece of hair around her fingertip. Archie was sitting, propped up by several pillows. She had been making conversation—or trying to make conversation—by flitting from topic to topic. One moment she described the pleasant appeal of the house at which they were staying, the next commenting on the weather. She was fully aware that she was doing most of the talking, and usually this would be terribly embarrassing, but she was afraid to stop. If she did, she knew silence would engulf the both of them, and her mind would fill with consuming, anxious thoughts. So she tried to avoid the unavoidable—when they would be questioned, what the verdict of the inquiry would be, and why Archie was staring at her so deeply. Her eyes shied to his for a moment, catching the intensity beneath the blue.

"Archie, why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, finally halting in her nervous, scattered chatter.

"You've said many things, yet you really have nothing to say," Archie said softly, running a finger down the side of her dress. He wasn't annoyed with her; he knew perfectly well that talking was how Cat dealt with stress. By nature, she was a quiet, inward thinker. It wasn't often that she said something not worth saying.

Cat sighed, though the tension did not leave her. "I know," she said sheepishly, "It's just that I, well-

Archie shushed her gently, reaching to rub her shoulder with his extended hand. "We don't have to talk," he murmured and Cat nodded. For a few moments, the two sat in a comfortable silence, Archie rubbing Cat's back, despite the heavy pain in his chest.

"Cat, look at me," Archie said suddenly, breaking the silence between them. Cat turned towards him, her eyes bright with curiosity. "I have to ask you something," Archie said, his eyes boring into her own. He removed his hand from her back, sliding it down until it rested on Cat's hand. Cat stared down at his hand covering her own. It was a small gesture, but to her it spoke a million words.

"My dear Cat—if I happen to survive this," he began, and then clapped a hand to his forehead upon realizing the grimness of his words, "God, that sounded morbid—my apologies." After a few moments, he tried again. "Will you give me the greatest pleasure I could ever have and consent to be my wife?" he asked, and for a split second, the confidence in his eyes faltered and a keen nervousness broke through.

Cat's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened. Had he really just asked her to marry him? For weeks now she had dared not hope for such a proposal, yet she wanted it deeply. For the second time that day, she felt tears gather in her eyes. "Oh, Archie!" were the only words she managed to choke out before falling into his chest.

Archie had to smile as he wrapped his arms around her figure, feeling the satisfying pressure against his arms as she took deep, even breaths. He felt something wet on his cheek, and he asked Cat, "Are you crying?"

A nod came from the overwhelmed female.

Archie let out a small chuckle. "That _is _a yes, though?"

Another nod.

Grinning happily, Archie kissed her cheek, pulling her face back from his shoulder so that he could see her.

Her face was flushed, tears trailing down her cheeks. She gave him a watery smile, and he pulled her into a tender kiss, touching his lips to the small droplets that clung to her face. Cat would make a good wife, Archie was sure of that. In fact, he was convinced that there was no finer woman in all the world. No matter what tomorrow brought, Archie knew that he and Cat would face it together.

Lottie was the last visitor to enter the make-shift hospital. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dim light as she stepped off of the stone steps descending into the room. The air was stuffy. The few windows that lined the hall did not appear to open. A thin cloth hung lazily on the rods suspended above the windows, keeping the warm sunlight from finding a way in. The room was large, bunks were spread throughout the room, most lined against the old walls. Everything was overseen by two bored Marines who stood by the door. Wordlessly, she made these observations as she walked along the room. Familiar faces greeted her, those who were awake would smile faintly at her, one cocky sailor even managing a flirty wink. Others laid morbid in their misfortune, several missing limbs. She sent them all encouraging smiles, most of which were returned, save that of a small boy whose eyes were covered by his thick bandages.

She didn't like it here, she decided. In here, it was dark and dank, though not to the same extent the Renown was. The smell wasn't appealing to her senses either, though she chose not to dwell on it. At long last, she spotted Wellard, looking very small as he lay beneath a twisted blanket. His eyes were closed, and his lips pursed tightly, as if holding back unuttered groans. He was sleeping, Lottie supposed, watching the involuntary twitch of Wellard's hand. It seemed that even sleep could not completely erase his pain.

Lottie pulled a chair up next to the boy's bed. A corner of the window cover had fallen from the rod above it, sending a thin shaft of light onto the pallid figure. Lottie replaced the cloth, dimming the room further. As if sensing this small change, Wellard's eyes fluttered open, confusion evident on his face as he tried to discern where he was. As he took in his surroundings, he remembered the stretcher, and the bumping and dropping, and that he had ended up in a softer place. His unease lessened.

"Hey you," called Lottie softly, and Wellard turned to her voice. Upon seeing her, his eyes lit up with such a palpable joy that Lottie wanted to hug him tightly and never let go. His former forlorn expression softened, and with a shaky hand he reached to touch Lottie's face. It was a wonder how just the sight of her was able to palliate any discomfort he felt. God, he loved her. He truly loved her.

She cradled his hand in hers, finally letting it rest against her cheek. "Your hands are so cold, Wellard," she whispered worriedly, kissing each of his fingertips. The day was ending, but the air was still warm and humid—quite the opposite of Wellard.

"I'm always cold now," he told her, and for a moment an alarming darkness filled his eyes. It quickly faded, and he enjoyed the soothing warmth of Lottie's cheek. "Though I suppose I'm a bit warmer now." He smiled weakly, his eyes somnolent. Lottie smiled back at him, her heart soaring. If Wellard was able to smile, if ever so briefly, then he had to be getting better.

For a long time, Lottie simply held his hand, knowing that this small action was greater than any consoling words she could offer him. After all, what would she say? Both of them knew that the upcoming prospect grim. Neither of them wanted to think about it, yet they found it was all they could think about.

As the evening wore on, the muffled noise of the room began to fade. The doctors and helping sailors vacated the room, as did Amy and Cat. Still, Lottie remained, her focus only on the quiet boy beside her. Candles were eventually lit, and Lottie knew she had to accept that it was now getting dark, and time for her to leave. No sound came from Wellard, and Lottie assumed that he had fallen back asleep. Just as she began to pull her hand away from his, his grip tightened, surprising her.

"Don't leave," he murmured tiredly, and Lottie thought she could just make out his eyes in the darkness, staring desperately at her.

"Wellard," she started, but he only grasped her hand tighter.

"Stay," he said, sounding more awake. Lottie bit her lip, knowing the gravity of what he was asking of her.

"_Please_," he whispered pleadingly, and with that one word, Lottie gave in. She glanced back once at the Marines, who were no longer aware of her existence.

"Alright," she agreed.

The girl waited until the last candle had been blown out, and the Marines left the room. Silently, Wellard scooted over, allowing Lottie to climb in under the blanket. She laid down on the bed beside him, their noses touching. The boy kept hold of her hand, and for a moment, he dared to brush his lips against hers. Wellard felt Lottie relax beside him, letting out a content sigh. As the night overtook the sky, the two fell fast into dreamless sleep.

**I stayed up **way **too late finishing this. Hope you liked it. Free cookies to all those who review. ;) **


	15. Though Justice Be Thy Plea

**This story is so close to being finished, I can TASTE the end! A friend and I are seeing who can finish their story first. The tension is thick, but I **know **I'm going to win. The final updates will be most likely near the ends of November and December. I am sorry for the wait. I know it's been long. I've had a lack of inspiration lately, and I cannot force myself to write crap. I just can't. Thank you for sticking with me. :) **

**End of note. My chapter will begin directly. *Cues orchestra to play intense music* **

_Chapter 14: Though Justice Be Thy Plea_

Harrington House did not make an effort to rouse its guests in the morning. During this time of year, it was a sluggish, sleepy place with few sources of entertainment. Those that rose early gathered in the dinning area to chat and pass time aimlessly. Time was of no importance at the house. Here, it was a resting place.

The sun was unable to shine through the damp gloom that had settled over the city. The air was humid, and a impenetrable gray loomed overhead. Lottie stayed up in her room. She sat on her bed, sewing up the hole that the bullet had left in Wellard's jacket. Amy, Cat, and Lottie had each been given a small room for themselves. The rooms were comfortable, at least compared to their former cramped quarters. Each was similar, containing a bed, a vanity, a candlestick on a writing desk, and a painting depicting a scene from nature or a famous person. As part of their service, the House had the girls' clothes washed. Their dresses had surely seen better days, but a thorough washing had managed to bring out some of the colors hidden by stains.

Humming a song she could no longer remember words to, Lottie pushed the needle through the navy blue material. The last few weeks she had spent on the Renown had proved to be a constant mending lesson. There always seemed to be a new tear in her petticoat or a hole in her skirt, no matter how careful she was. Cat had always been a better seamstress, and helped Lottie sew up these annoyances. It was partly through Cat's teaching and partly out of necessity that Lottie had improved her sewing skills.

Sitting here, in a cozy, warm place made the outside world seem very far away. The motion of her needle moving in and out of the cloth rhythmically caused all else to fade into the background. She could almost forget all that had happened, and all that was to take place.

Her needle slipped, and she pricked herself. Grimacing, she examined her sore finger. She could almost forget everything. Almost, but not quite. Sighing, she looked down at her handiwork, hoping that the unevenness of her seams wouldn't show. After all, it was the jacket that Wellard would wear for the trial.

Much had occurred since their arrival in Kingston, nearly a week ago. True to his promise, Pellew had addressed the Renown's situation immediately. Two other Admirals in the vicinity were assigned to help access the problem of the removal of Captain Sawyer. Admirals Pellew, Hammond and Bentley had begun an elongated inquiry, collecting enough information to call for a trial.

The trial was fast approaching. The admirals would be serving as the judges. Whether the ultimate sentence would be harmful or liberating for those of the Renown, it was too soon to tell. The judges would hear the views of Clive and the wounded officers directly involved before coming to a decision. Due to their sex, the girls would not be allowed to attend the trial, though their significant input as witnesses was noted, as well as their account of the Captain before and after his fall.

Down on the first floor, Amy sat in the dining area, pleasantly enjoying her breakfast. It had taken every ounce of her self-control not to pounce on delicacies such as sugar and cream. Though it sounded shallow to admit it, one of the things she was most enjoying about Jamaica was the food. Here, there was fresh fruit and baked bread—items that she had taken for granted in her old life. After her stay on the Renown, she had learned to appreciate even the smallest item fully.

The company she had found was enjoyable as well. The only other guest that was staying at Harrington was a French woman, Comtese Leppard, and her three children. The Comtese spoke English, as did her eldest daughter. The Comtese had explained to Amy that due to the recent bloodshed of lesser-known aristocrats, they had fled France on a dangerous journey to Boston, America. The American ship that would carry them to their destination had been delayed, and they were left with no other choice but to wait. Amy, in turn, had related her story to the Comtese, leaving out details as necessary.

The milk swirled in spirals in Amy's tea as she poured it from the porcelain dish. She sat at a table with the Comtese and her eldest daughter, Colette, enjoying some sort of breakfast pastry she couldn't remember the name of. The Comtese's other two children sat at another table, playing chess and chatting pleasantly in French. It was a beautiful language, Amy had come to realize. It was too bad Britain and France couldn't get along. She had taken French in high-school, but only because she had no other choice. Now, she was regretting not studying it further.

"Miss Amee, I notiz you leave diz place many time. Where do you go?" asked Colette, daintily sipping her tea.

"I visit the wounded at the infirmary," replied Amy, though she knew that she came to visit one individual exceedingly more than the others.

"Iz dare anyone special you see?" the Comtese inquired, a sly—yet still passive—look crossing her face.

"Per'aps someone you love?"

"Colette! We must respect er privacy!" scolded the Comtese chidingly, though it was clear to Amy that the same question had crossed her mind.

"It's quite alright," replied Amy. "I do have someone special," she told them, wondering what to call her 'someone' exactly. Not a boyfriend—they wouldn't understand that term. Neither was he a betrothed.

"Iz he 'andsome?" Colette asked, leaning in eagerly, all ladylikeness pushed aside.

"Very," answered Amy, smiling broadly. "Though he is tiresome at times."

Lately, Bush had been more demanding than usual. Amy supposed it was because his wound no longer caused him a great deal of pain. Now it only pricked him irritatingly. He was recovering quickly, yet he was still unable to do much of anything. Because of this, he was continually grumpy. Amy forgave him, though, because begrudgingly, she knew that she had been just as difficult in the past.

"Are you married?" the Comtese asked. From the look in her eye, Amy decided against saying the word, 'No'.

Instead, she said, "Not yet." This received smiles from her French company. Well, in Amy's mind, there were only two directions that this relationship could go. They would either go their separate ways, both feeling incomplete, or they would get married. There was equal chances for both, though Amy found herself contemplating the latter these days. She wondered if he had too.

At the Kingston docks, Cat stood along the shore, shawl wrapped tightly around her. The ocean was a less-than-optimistic hue this morning. Gray had, for now, overcome the usual bright blue. Davy, the powder monkey whom Cat had first comforted after he had broken his arm during the battle on the Renown, was with her. The boy had was still recovering from the injury, though he had returned to his normal duties. After their first encounter, Cat had developed a sisterly affection for the child. Maybe it was out of her instinct to be kind to younger people, or out of pity that she had taken him under her wing.

The boy appreciated her attention. Her smiles made him feel that he wasn't as worthless as he was told. When the sailors laughed or shouted at him, he clung to what he knew in his heart; he had a _friend_. Cat was the only motherly figure he had ever known.

Slowly, Cat had pieced together Davy's past. The lad had been aboard the Renown for most of his life. His parents were now dead, and the navy was the only home he had. Even though Cat knew that this was the sad truth for many boys in the navy, and that this would not probably change for a long time, she couldn't help but be saddened by Davy's tale. Boys his age should be going to school and playing outside—not being yelled at by rowdy, older men and risking being shot to bits.

But this was the harsh reality. In this time, boys did not stay boys for years on end as they did in Cat's time. Here, boys grew up. Even before their voices had changed pitch, they began working alongside adults. Cat knew that the stronger ones survived the brutal life aboard ship. She could only hope that Davy would survive as well.

"Davy," she called, and the boy turned from skipping rocks. "Why don't go find the other boys?"

The boy shook his head slowly. "I d-don't mind staying with you, Miss Cat," he replied, and shifted his eyes to the ground. Though most found it annoying, Cat found his stutter adorable. He really had to think about what he said before saying it, and therefore what he managed to say he meant with all his heart.

Cat smiled at his shyness. "It's perfectly fine if you want to, Davy. I know I'm a bit of a bore," she told him.

The boy ducked his head sheepishly. "A lady like you s-shouldn't have to be l-left alone," he murmured, and Cat—for what seemed the twentieth time that week—felt small tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Maybe it was because of the tension, or maybe it was just an extended case of hormones. She would never know.

"Come here, Davy," she whispered, touched by the boy's thoughtfulness. The boy approached her and fell into her open arms. She hugged him tight, and then lowered herself to his level.

Looking him right in the eyes, she told him, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you are insignificant. You are kind. You are smart. You are special."

A grin lit up the boy's face, highlighting the blue of his eyes. "R-really?" he dared to ask, half-afraid she would renounce her compliments.

Cat brushed the boy's sandy hair out of his eyes. "Really," she said. In that moment, Cat knew that when she had children, she would do everything she could to make sure they had happy lives. She might even name one of them Davy.

In Admiral Pellew's office, an fly was buzzing annoyingly around the room, landing on papers and furniture, thoroughly irritating the Admiral. The air was still and stale, despite its humidity. Pellew was tediously reviewing the notes that had been taken during the interrogations with Amy, Cat and Lottie along with his analysis that, eventually, would be sent to the Admiralty's headquarters in England.

According to the subjects, it appeared the Captain had fallen into the hold, and afterwards was unable to recover properly, leading him to rash and illogical decisions. Under the duress of battle, he had been removed from command and confined to a straitjacket. It was very important that they were informed of how exactly how his removal came about; this would decide whether the act was mutiny or not.

One could assume that his madness had derived from the blow that he received from his fall. However, the account from the women seemed to point towards erratic behavior _before_ his accident. What caused it? Never before had he ever heard ill spoken of Captain Saywer. The man was a highly esteemed naval officer.

Though Pellew was left with several, large unanswered questions, he was finding himself in favor of declaring the Renown innocent of mutiny. Hammond, on the other hand, was not so keen on issuing out mercy. Charles was a stubborn, steadfast man. When he believed in something, there was no changing his mind. Pellew had reminded him of the blunt honesty of the female witnesses. They had answered each question without one hesitation or contradiction. In fact, after the intimidating scowls Hammond had given them, Pellew wouldn't be surprised if they were too scared _not_ to tell the truth.

"Even if they were tellin' the truth, and I'm not sayin' they are," Hammond had told his companions, "Surely we can agree that Sawyer's name _must be preserved_."

Pellew debated furthering the argument. Before he had the chance, Bentley ended the conversation by telling them that not all witnesses had told their perspective yet, and they would just have to wait until the trial to reach a decision. In some ways, Bentley's constant peacekeeping was becoming a nuisance. The man was just too neutral for Pellew's liking. Decisions should be black and white, not gray. Yet, this situation was proving to be far more gray that Pellew had expected.

Pellew could only recall what Hornblower had told him, "It _was_ for the good of the ship, sir." The problem with making a decision as consequential as removing the superior officer was that those judging the guilty parson had the authority to either convict him for dishonorable deed or look past the illegality of the procedure.

When Cat came to visit Archie that afternoon, she found him sitting up, reading a book intently. She presumed the book was one of the ones that she had brought him from the collection at Harrington House. She hadn't recognized most of the titles, though a few she remembered being considered classics in the future.

He was looking better everyday. The teasing wink had returned to his eyes, and some color had returned to his cheeks. His morale, however, was another story. The wounded in the infirmary were beginning to hate the humidity and heat as flies buzzed around them. Even Bush had stayed in a implacable funk that, despite Amy's frequent kisses and threats, could not be shaken.

As the days wore on, Archie had grown weary of his surroundings. Often he would just stare out through one of the windows, a pitiful expression on his face. Yet, not once had he complained. He suffered silently, trying to be patient as his body healed. Cat could only hope that by reading, he could escape from the uncomfortable reality he was in for awhile.

Hearing the bed creak, Archie looked up from his reading. He smiled blithely and held out a hand, which Cat took and returned with a kiss. "How are you?" she asked softly, letting Archie's fingers entwine with her own.

Archie knew that she meant more than just a casual greeting. "I'm alright," he answered semi-honestly, trying not to sigh as Cat pulled back the sheet from his wounded torso, inspecting the wound for signs of improvement. He refrained from calling her a mother-hen. After all, he knew that she only wanted to help him because she cared about him.

Cat subconsciously fussed with his sheets and pillows for a few more moments till she realized what she was doing and placed her hands in her lap. Catching the amused smirk that crossed Archie's mouth, she blushed. She knew what he was thinking, and he was right. In fact, she was sure it was only out of his loyalty to her that he didn't laugh. "What were you reading?" she asked, trying to forget her momentary embarrassment.

"The Merchant of Venice, from Shakespeare," he replied, lifting the book up to show her. She took it from him, flipping through it with a vague sense of familiarity. A long time ago, the book had been on an assigned reading list for a literature class. Her memory of its plot and characters was fuzzy now, though she remembered something about a trial.

"Can I read you a passage?" Archie asked suddenly, a serious frown crossing his face.

"Go ahead," she told him, and Archie took back the book, flipping pages until he reached the desired portion.

"This is the character Portia speaking to the court of Venice, who is keen on deciding the fate of this guilty man," he explained, and then proceeded to read the passage.

"The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown;

His septre shows the force of temporal power;

The attribute to awe in majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then shoe likest God's

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this,

That, in the course of justice, none of us

Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;

And that prayer doth teach us all to render

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much

To mitigate the justice of thy plea;

Which if though follow, the strict court of Venice,

Must needs give sentence against the merchant there."

After he finished, Archie looked at Cat, his eyes flashing. Cat didn't know how to respond. Shakespeare had never been a popular reading choice for her because she got too caught up in the Old-English style to understand what was happening in the story. Maybe it was Archie's expressive voice, or maybe it was the humidity—but somehow, she was able to understand the passage and appreciate its beauty. Most importantly, she understood why the passage had stuck out in Archie's mind. Right now, he was in a similar situation. The court that would decide his and the other officers' fate would not think first to issue mercy. Justice would be the foremost in the judges' minds.

A moment of silence passed between the two as they looked at each other. There was no need for words, their eyes said everything. Both of them knew that this was a serious situation, one in which one may not survive.

Archie, after a few seconds, closed the book and set it on the floor beside his bed. He rested back against his pillows. "Our conversation has grown grim, again, I'm afraid. We must change the topic if I am to save my sanity," he said and Cat let out a short, nervous laugh.

"What shall we talk about?" she asked, and Archie smiled.

"You," he answered.

"Alright," she said, and, after a moment, awkwardly began to talk about anything that came to her mind; stories from her childhood, descriptions of her family, things that she had learned. It didn't seem to matter to Archie what she talked about, as long as it had nothing to do with the trial or anything that reminded him of it.

There was a certain stillness around Wellard as he lay on his back, focusing on blocking out the pain in his chest. He was getting better, the doctors had assured, but it seemed the "better" he got, the worse he felt. Maybe it was because he was spending more of his time awake than asleep these days, and thus was alert to feel the stab of his injury. It had been a lonely day thus far. He was restless, unable to fall into a peaceful snooze.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Captain. It was getting harder and harder to avoid. Moments before he had been shot, Sawyer had called him brave. _Brave._ That was the first praise Wellard ever remembered receiving from the Captain.

He didn't feel like he was 'brave'. The first time he shot a gun, he trembled. Even though he had been in battles since then, and shot weapons on various occasions, he had never gotten over the death they caused. He had been too scared to stand up for himself when the others had laughed, mocked and shouted. After every beating he had received, he had cried silently and morbidly, wishing he was dead. As he had aided the lieutenants in their mutinous assembly, he could only think of the deadly consequences. Worst of all, when Wellard had found Lottie walking in harm's way, he had realized how deathly afraid he was of waking up and not having a friend.

Bravery was certainly something he had yet to obtain. Still, the Captain's words had stuck with him, even through his oblivion after the bullet had ripped through his chest. He knew that they were not casual, aimless words; they were legitimate. But why had the Captain had a sudden change of heart?

This brought to mind another question. How could Lottie have been there at just the right time? It was as if she had previous knowledge of the outcome of his attempt at taking the Captain's life. He could see her clearly, running to his side, shrieking and sobbing. He could feel her hands holding his head, her lips kissing his forehead. He could hear her cry over and over, _"I'm too late. I've failed."_ Had it been fate she had been there, or perhaps divine intervention? Despite their vividness, these images were slowly melting into the whirl of other thoughts and worries. Wellard wouldn't be able to rest until the trial was over, and the matter was settled once and for all.

His fellow midshipman, Gabriel Delaney, who laid in the bed next to his, had been keeping him company for the last few days. They talked mindlessly, trading stories from their past in an attempt to try and pass the time. Delaney was a chatty fellow, and seldom did the flow of their discussion slow. Lately, it appeared as if they had never _not _been friends.

Their conversation often turned to loved ones and sweethearts. Delaney had an apparent history with women, but not one of his pursuits had ended happily. Delaney had remarked that Wellard was lucky for having found Lottie. Though, he wasn't quite sure how the two had ended up, seeing as Wellard was so quiet all the time, and _he_ was certainly the more handsome midshipman. "She's a sweet lass, that girl," he said, chuckling. "You better hold on to her tightly."

The two shared a small laugh, their situation momentarily forgotten. "I don't even have a ring, damn it!" Wellard had confessed sadly, though a spark of laughter was in his eyes.

Delaney had reassured him. "What you need to give the bride is a _bouquet_," he had told him, smiling knowingly.

"A bouquet?" Wellard had asked, a bit doubtful. Just because he had been raised among the lower class did _not_ mean he was naïve about weddings. The bride wore a ring—some rings were plain, some were engraved, but all were made of gold or silver. This was something he wasn't sure he could find in Kingston. Part of him wondered if it would be odd for the _both_ of them to wear rings, not just Lottie. It would be something they could both remember each other by when he was over seas.

"You can buy the ring later, in London. Just make sure she has flowers," Delaney said, a twinkle in his eye. Wellard hadn't been able to get an answer out of him as to how he had retrieved this information.

Wellard's musings were interrupted as Lottie collapsed tiredly onto his beside. "Hello, Lottie," he greeted her, and Lottie's spirits lifted slightly at the warm touch of his hand and the alertness in his eyes. He was surely improving; it couldn't be just wishful thinking.

"Hello, Herry," she breathed, and planted a tender kiss on his forehead. She was always so gentle with him these days, as if he was something fragile. Wellard longed for the day that he could walk about freely again, instead of laying down, dwelling on grim topics. At least Lottie was here now. She was always able to find something for them to talk about, or more, have herself talk about and Wellard listen. He hadn't felt like talking much lately. Every word had become a struggle for him. The more he spoke, the more weary he felt.

Today was different. He wanted to talk. More importantly, he wanted to _know_ things—the things that Lottie kept inside her. He wanted her to know things too—the things that he kept inside him. "Lottie," he said, breaking the silence between them, "Would it be to painful to speak of the past?"

After a pause, Lottie replied with a soft, "No." This surprised her. Only a few weeks ago she would have hated to talk about anything of her former life. But now, all that was left was faded and misplaced memories; ones that made her happy, ones that made her stronger, ones that made her laugh.

Wellard took her hand, and closed his eyes as he talked to her. He told her happy memories of Isobel, he told her of the darkness that had so often plagued his life. In return, Lottie told him of her own experiences; even the ones she did not want to dwell on, such as her brief stay aboard the Indomptable.

Lottie couldn't help but think that this was their final day. After the trial, everything would change—not necessarily for the better. Tomorrow would hold their future. For now, it was better to relish in this moment they were sharing. They needed to live every second they had in the here and now; time was short.

As the couple conversed, Clive observed them discreetly. Every so often, the girl would smile, and nod her head as they laughed. Their hands were clasped tightly together, and for the first time that Clive could remember, it appeared that the boy was genuinely happy. A few beds away, another girl sat up with a lieutenant, just leaning against him and enjoying his company. A third girl was attempting to cheer her lover, teasing and flirting as he grumpily mumbled replies.

They seemed so happy; so content with where they were. If they were worried, they didn't show it. For the first time that he could remember, he saw joy on Wellard's face. He couldn't remember a time that the boy had ever been happy before; the girl had clearly had an influence in his life.

Clive had never had feelings for women because he always been content with liquor. In fact, he found them bothersome and inessential. Yet, he felt something stir inside him as he watched them in their happiness. These people, as much as he would like to convince himself otherwise, were not bad, evil-seeking people. They had simply been caught in between a rock and a hard place. Neither was easy to move around, and both choices had unfortunate consequences.

Their fate was in his hands. At the trial, the judges would ask him whether the Captain had been unfit for command, and whether he had declared him so. As the doctor aboard, only he was able to remove the Captain from command. If the Captain had been removed otherwise, under any circumstances, it would be classified as mutiny, and the mutineers would hang.

Tomorrow would soon come, and the trial shortly after. He would be forced to make a decision. It was his sense of duty that would urge him give an honest answer; it was his sense of loyalty that would beg him to lie.

With whom would his allegiance remain: he who was dead, or they who were still alive?

**Yes, it was shorter this time. I am still not satisfied with it; I welcome suggestions to make it better. Now click the little button and give me some feedback! BTW—on my profile are links to drawings that my sistah Define X has done for this story (Amy, Cat and Lottie). So check them out! **

EDIT 2012:** is being stupid, so I cannot post the link in my profile, however, Define X is on DeviantArt, you can view her gallery there. **


	16. In Which All Things Are Reconciled

**This was finished very late last night, while I was wracked with fever. I'm working on the final chapter now. Girls, thank you. Your reviews mean so much to me, they really do. There is one more chapter after this! Are you excited? **

_Chapter 15: In Which All Things Are Reconciled_

The sun had yet to make its appearance on the Jamaican horizon. Despite the darkness, it was clear that the pending gloom had lifted, and that it was going to be a clear, bright day. In just a few hours, a court martial would be held in the Kingston courthouse. Three naval judges would decide whether the removal of James Sawyer as captain of the Renown was an act of mutiny or not.

Lottie was walking down a street in Kingston, cold and dark. For the past few nights, she had been plagued with insomnia. Assumably, it was due to the stress she suffered from the upcoming trial; there was a lot to think about. As hard as she tried not to worry, she did. And try as she might, she could not rid her mind of the horrible possibility that the inquiry could end in multiple hangings. Furthermore, she knew not what would happen to Cat, Amy and herself afterwards. If the trial resulted in death sentences, where would they go? Apart from the naval officers, there was nothing for them here, there, or anywhere. Admiral Pellew was compassionate, but compassion would only get them so far. Her fate, and the fate of her friends, was tied to that of the Renown. If it sunk, so would they.

In the last week, the Comtese had extended her hospitality to Cat and Lottie. Now all three girls were able to chat pleasantly with their French comrades. Wellard had continued to recover, and he would be able to stand and testify during the trial. Despite the increase of strength and alertness in his demeanor, his complexion was still pale and hollow, and his eyes retained their grim outline. Lottie and Wellard distracted themselves by discussing their hopeful future together. A reoccurring topic had been children.

As the street divided into two routes, Lottie chose the more lively one—well, as lively as a street could be at five in the morning. There were a few people about; a tavern was still open, presumably for those who had drunk the night away, and a few merchants were already beginning their day's work. Most were still asleep, contently catching up on their rest, unwilling to wake up.

Lottie was not the only one of the Renown's party to be up before daybreak. Hobbs walked down the street as well, though he was not as worried for the lives of the naval officers. Rather, he was conflicted. Several months ago, he would have died for the preservation of James Sawyer's name, hating everyone who criticized the man in any way. Now, he was still loyal, though more realistic in how far he carried his devotion. He would never admit it, but he was beginning to realize the danger that Sawyer had brought to the men aboard, and how easy it had been to disregard this danger when remembering the former, brave Captain of the Renown.

At just the right moment, the two insomniacs glanced up, acknowledging each other with polite smiles. Grudges and prejudices had finally been pushed aside between them, and the two could now recognize one another as friends, rather than foes.

"You're up early," was Hobbs greeting. He had never found it easy to make conversation. There was hardly a need for it in the navy; talking to a woman was something he had not experienced very often.

"So are you," she replied, and as Hobbs approached her he observed her weary frame, thin limbs and shadows under her eyes.

"Have you not been able to sleep?" he asked, guessing the reason for her devitalized figure.

The girl shook her head. The two walked side by side, neither knowing their destination. Silence ensued between them. It was not awkward—just quiet.

"I put in for a transfer to another ship," said Hobbs eventually, though he didn't know exactly why he was telling her this. "It was accepted. I am now assigned to the _Felicity_."

Lottie glanced up at him, and oddly felt a wave of sadness for him. He had spent nearly all of his career under Sawyer, and an abrupt change such as this must be difficult for him. "When do you set sail?" she asked politely.

"This afternoon," he said softly, "After the trial," he added as an after-thought. He had no worries for himself; he had not been involved with the removal of the Captain.

Lottie stopped, realizing that she had somehow found her way back to Harrington House. "So this is goodbye then?" she asked him, and that thought brought a slightly greater feeling of disappointment than she had anticipated.

"Yes," was his simple answer, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "It has been a pleasure, Miss O'Hara. I wish you a happy future," he gave her a genuine smile, surprising himself with his words. With a slight bow, he turned and walked away, somewhat embarrassed by his complimentary farewell.

"And the same to you, Hobbs," Lottie whispered to his retreating figure, and only after he was out of sight did she turn to go inside.

The sun had begun to peek out above the houses, warming and lighting everything around it. Lottie climbed tiredly up the stairs and made her way back to her room, collapsing onto her bed. Closing her eyes for a few blissful moments, she knew that she couldn't go back to sleep now. The trial would be starting in little over an hour. There were things she had to do before then. Most importantly, she had to see Wellard off. The boy was openly afraid about what the outcome would be. Being able to see her before he was rushed off to testify, Lottie hoped, would put the boy at ease.

She laid in bed for approximately twenty minutes before forcing herself to rise, re-braid her hair and smooth her rumpled dress. After glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable, she walked down the stairs and out of the inn once again. The wounded officers had been removed from the infirmary several days ago, and had joined Hornblower and Buckland at the Wurther Inn. The change of atmosphere had done them some good; color had returned to their faces and their attitudes had improved, particularly that of Bush—much to Amy's relief.

Tiredly, Lottie walked into the inn. The doorman barely favored her with a glance; by now he had become so used to her frequent visiting that it was hardly worth his bother to ask her what she had come here for. The girl walked up the steps that had by now become familiar, turned, went three doors down, and arrived at Wellard's room. She knocked softly, and could hear a faint shuffling behind the door before it opened. Wellard greeted her with a warm smile, and he pulled her into the room, closing the door behind them.

It was apparent that he had just woken up, his eyes were sleepy and shirt only half-way tucked in. Wellard pulled Lottie into an embrace, but all too soon, Lottie pulled away.

"Let's get you ready," she said, and she could see the faint disappointment in his eyes as she turned away from him. She would much rather have spent the remainder of the hour falling asleep in his arms, but she knew this was not possible. So did Wellard.

Retrieving Wellard's vest, jacket, and neck-scarf from the places they had been discarded, she held them out to him one at a time. He put on his vest and then the jacket, fumbling with the buttons. Not only was it was too early for him to function properly, these days it seemed that the smallest task took all of his concentration. Whether this was due to his weakened state after his injury or because of his constant anxiety, he didn't know.

Seeing him struggle, Lottie gently brushed his hands away, buttoning each button and tying his neck-scarf in a sharp knot at the nape of his neck. She messed with his jacket fretfully, pulling it straighter and smoothing the wrinkles out of the navy-blue cloth. Wellard stopped her fussing, holding onto her hands and bringing them to his face. He placed one of her hands on each side of his face, and smiled shyly at her, his brown eyes gazing lovingly. The face he made was so adorable that Lottie had the urge to 'aww'.

"I could not live without you," he said, and though the words were somewhat exaggerated, Lottie knew that he meant them with all his heart. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, and finally, her lips, lingering leisurely. With each caress, Lottie felt herself fall deeper and deeper into a whirl of emotion. Perhaps it was because she had gotten only a few hours of sleep the previous night, or maybe it was the building tension of their situation, but suddenly, she felt broken. Yet she knew she couldn't break down. Now was the crucial moment when she had to be strong, not only for Wellard, but for herself.

Still, that didn't stop tears from forming, and she hastily closed her eyes to conceal them. Wellard kissed her again and again, each one sweeter and longer than the previous one. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and Wellard kissed it away, wrapping his arms around her waist. He could feel her tremors and quickened breathing. It pained him to see her so disquieted. She shouldn't have to worry about him.

Three doors down, Cat leaned into Archie's embrace. She had been here all morning. At first they had conversed in quiet, false-cheery tones, but they had lapsed into a comfortable silence that each was afraid to break. For now, they were content to find comfort in the warmth of each other. Both were too tired to make conversation, and too apprehensive to dare speak.

Archie supposed he wasn't doing what he ought in regards to Cat. He should be making her feel safe and secure in spite of the danger that he was going to face, not just sitting in morbid silence. It was interesting; in the moments before rushing into battle, he always felt a rush of nervous excitement. Somehow, he remained calm throughout the ordeal, forcing himself to ignore the death and destruction around him. There would be no combat at the trial, yet he found that now, of all times, he was scared. But he would not allow his fear to take him under. He couldn't afford to.

"After we're married, we'll live at my father's house in South Hampton," said Archie casually, "I know you'll like it there."

"Tell me what it's like," Cat murmured, letting her head rest on Archie's chest.

"It's tall, and moss-covered. There's a lovely view from the back balcony. It's surrounded by a forest. We have a stable, with horses."

Cat smiled, knowing the he was trying to highlight aspects that would pique her interest. "It sounds wonderful, Archie," she told him. Even though worries lingered in her mind about today's events, she knew that in Archie's arms everything was alright. Here, she could breathe.

"Cat," Archie said, and from the change of his tone, Cat knew he was about to change the topic drastically. "No matter what happens today," he paused and bit his lip, clearly nervous, "Know that I love you."

Cat nodded, and replied with an soft, but ardent, "I love you, too." Archie smiled. She sure was something, his Cat was. Sometimes, Cat seemed stronger than he was. For a moment, Archie admired her, taking in the pleasant shape of her face, luminosity of her brown eyes and faint blush of her cheeks. She was beautiful. In the next instant, his daydreaming ceased, and the reality of what he could be facing replaced any happy thoughts he had formerly.

Slowly, Cat let the horrible truth sink in. Not even Archie was confident about the outcome of the trial. He didn't know whether he would escape a hanging or not. Part of Cat vainly hoped that beneath that serious stare, she would find his usual laughter. Usually those blue orbs shone brightly—not now. All was dark in his eyes. She buried her face into his chest, hiding the fear that masked her own face. Prayer had managed to keep her worries at bay for the last few days, but now, her inmost fears released themselves.

More silence ensued between them, though this time the stillness was heavy with words unsaid. Minutes, or maybe days passed as the two held each other. Archie's arms wrapped securely around Cat's waist; she wasn't going anywhere. He would have to leave at any moment. Before he left, he had to tell her something.

"Remember me," he said finally.

Cat took in his words, trying not to be overwrought. The way he said them was so final, it scared her. For the last few months, she had scarcely thought of anyone else. Failing to remember Archie would be disregarding all that had happened to her, all that she had lost, gained and learned. If she ended up walking the world alone, forgetting Archie would be impossible. He would never leave her; he had become a part of who she was. She would always remember. How could she forget?

Cat nodded against his chest, and replied softly, "I will."

Lottie's head rested tiredly in Wellard's lap, her body lying on his bed. He had done all he could do to make her feel at ease; he stroked her hair, he kissed her face. Yet she remained implacable. It was better for them not to talk anymore, neither could think of anything encouraging to say.

"Herry," she whispered, as a knock sounded at the door. Sighing, he lifted his face away from hers, taking his time in making his way to the door.

"I love you," she whispered, before he opened the door. Her lip trembled, betraying her calm, collected posture. "I'll see you after the trial," she added bravely.

"I love you, Lottie," he responded, and opened the door to a Marine, who had been sent to escort him to the trial. The Marine, who was not fond of waiting on people, tipped his hat pointedly, an impatient expression on his face.

Lottie got up and grabbed Wellard's hat from a chair, placing it on his head. The two exchanged a glance as Lottie's hands slowly fell from the hat. Their simple look spoke volumes. _Everything was going to be alright. It would all be over soon. God would hear their prayers. _

The boy left, closing the door behind him. For a few minutes, Lottie rocked herself back and forth on his bed, trying to regain control of her raging emotions. Worrying wasn't going to solve any of her problems; it only made them worse. _He would live. He would live. He would live. _

When Lottie arrived back at Harrington House, she found Cat and Amy in her room, sitting on her bed with perturbed expressions on their faces. Amy busied herself by twisting a fistful of blanket, while Cat stared off into space, her eyes dim. It took a few seconds before they acknowledged that she had entered the room. Both looked up at her, greeting her with bleak smiles.

"This is it," said Lottie, cutting into the heavy silence, her voice barely above a whisper. She wrapped her small hands around the knob of a chair back, grasping it tightly. Cat and Amy answered their young friend with incoherent murmurs. It was a self-evident feeling that lingered in the room. Each of their fates was tied to a single event that had potential to destroy relationships they had built, or reinforce them.

"You haven't been sleeping, have you Lottie?" asked Cat, trying to focus on something other than the dread creeping in all around her.

Her friend shook her head, and somberly fell onto the bed, laying on her stomach and resting her head on her arms. Between the softness of the comforter beneath her and the warmth it produced, the girl was positively enervated. "I could not; I lay awake all night, just thinking. When I do sleep, I have horrid dreams."

Cat rubbed her friend's back sympathetically. It hadn't been easy for her to sleep either, much less to function properly. Every thought these days was haunted by morbidity. It was all she could do to focus; every day seemed to produce more uncertainties.

Amy wasn't faring much better, though for her companions' sakes she had tried to continue her signature sanguinity. By now, the usual glow that emanated off of her was beginning to ebb away. An indecipherable fear hung about her, one that, try as she might, she could not alleviate.

All three sat in silence for a few moments, Cat subconsciously rubbing Lottie's back, Amy examining her nails, and Lottie closing her weary eyes. It was Amy who first broke the silence, unable to withstand the silence.

"I still can't believe we're here," she murmured thoughtfully, and Cat and Lottie turned to look at her. "Sometimes, I still wake up and pinch myself, just to make sure it's real."

Oddly enough, nothing seemed particularly weird or abnormal about their surroundings anymore. It had taken weeks for the girls to become used to being surrounded by what they had thought were fictional characters. Now, it was their reality. Nothing seemed too surprising, and in some ways, it was as if they had always lived in this time. Most of the conveniences and luxuries of their old lives had been forgotten, though there were some things they would never forget. This did not make their journey any less fantastical to them. It still sparked a wonder in all of them, an amazement that could never be deadened.

"Do you ever think we'll know how we got here?" Lottie asked.

"Maybe we went though a black-hole or something," offered Amy.

"What's a black-hole?" asked Cat, the word seeming very unfamiliar and far away from anything she recognized.

Amy pondered for a moment. "I don't know anymore. I used to, I think." This was troubling. She knew that she must know what the term meant, but for some reason, the meaning was beyond her grasp. It was like that for a lot of words that had come from her time. Half the time, she couldn't remember what they meant, or why she would even know such absurd-sounding words.

In response to Lottie's question, Cat said, "I am content with not knowing how we arrived here." She surprised herself with her bold words, yet as they left her mouth, she knew that they were right. Perhaps it was fate that they had first been dropped here by some supernatural force, or maybe it was just luck. Either way, the journey that she had embarked on had been life-changing, and she wouldn't change a thing. "I have learned many things here, things that I'm not sure I would have learned in my old life."

"As have I," added Amy quietly. Her friends exchanged looks, knowing how hard it was for Amy to admit she was wrong. She didn't have to add anything else to her statement, both of her companions had seen the change in Amy for themselves. They had all changed since their arrival; Cat had become more confident, Lottie had matured, and Amy had learned to be serious. It wasn't that they were different people. They had simply adjusted to their different surroundings.

"Maybe this wasn't an accident. Maybe, we were meant to be here all along," murmured Lottie. This was possible, her friends supposed.

Suddenly, something clicked in Lottie's mind. _Everything happened for a reason._ There had to be a reason behind their appearance during the Hornblower episodes. Perhaps this reason would forever be evasive, or maybe she just couldn't see the full picture yet. Either way, God had to have a plan for her, even if it did take place in the 1800's. In that moment, Lottie realized that because of His sovereignty, and simply because she was _here_, it didn't matter what the outcome of the trial was. God would not abandon her. With this thought in mind, she felt her worries collapse, and drowsiness invade.

"Sleep now, Lottie," murmured Cat, and Lottie closed her eyes. Finally, she allowed herself to fall asleep, knowing that the One who was in her was greater than her fears, the world, and time itself.

Several hours passed before the trial was over. The sun had risen to its highest point, and beat cheerily down upon the inhabitants of Kingston, Jamaica. One could infer that the stuffiness of the court room had hurried the conclusion of the trial, or perhaps ample evidence had been given.

Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower, and William Bush walked out of the courthouse, serious and controlled expressions on their faces. As soon as they were out of the line of vision of those at the trial, they exchanged glances, and grins burst out on their faces. They were free men; all charges had been dropped against them. They continued to walk down the street, not really having a destination in mind and trying to restrain their utter relief from showing. Even Bush had a slight skip in his step, though the trial had tired him considerably.

Wellard, who had been requested to stay behind to converse with Pellew about an important matter, caught up with lieutenants after spotting them loitering by several market carts.

"What's that you have there, Wellard?" asked Archie, the first to notice the letter that Wellard had vainly tried to hide in his jacket. The boy ducked his head, from diffidence rather than shame, and reluctantly held out the letter to the curious lieutenant.

Archie examined the letter. "From the _Admiralty's office_?" he exclaimed, and Bush and Horatio nosily poked their heads around Archie's shoulders, craning their necks to look at the letter.

Archie opened it, and began to read aloud, much to the embarrassment of Wellard. "_The Admiralty would like to commend Henry Wellard for passing his exam for lieutenant_," read Archie, and Horatio and Bush interrupted with words of congratulation for their fellow officer. Archie cleared this throat, and their celebration paused as he continued to read. Wellard had taken his exam nearly six months ago, in Portsmouth, and had since then been waiting for his letter of acceptance and promotion from the Admiralty. Pellew had been given the task of delivering several exam letters, and happened to have Wellard's with him.

"Is this what Pellew wanted to speak to you about?" asked Horatio, and Wellard nodded, unable to hide his smile.

"You can call us simply by our names now," said Archie.

"Yes, sir," replied Wellard automatically, and quickly tried to correct himself, "I mean-

Archie just laughed, and Wellard blushed. This was going to take some getting used to for him. He was now a lieutenant, as the rest of them were, though he would always look up to and respect Archie, Horatio, and Bush.

"Well, that gives us another reason to celebrate," stated Bush humorously, and his comrades laughed.

"We shall drink this place dry, gentlemen!" declared Archie with vigor, though Horatio, always the logical one, stopped his friend.

"I think we best pay a visit to Harrington House first," said Horatio, and with sighs and murmurs of agreement, the rest of his companions agreed.

On their way there, Wellard excused himself, leaving elusively to walk over to a market cart. Upon his return, the item that he had purchased aroused smirks from the lieutenants.

"For _her_, I am assuming, and not for yourself?" Archie teased, and Wellard laughed.

"Yes," he answered, and then bit his lip nervously, "Do you think she'll like them?"

Archie examined Wellard's gift, and then exchanged glances with Horatio and Bush. "I daresay she will," Archie answered, a confident grin on his face. Wellard looked relieved.

Laughing and talking with much fewer cares in the world than they had started the day with, the foursome walked to Harrington House. Upon entering, they spotted Amy and Cat sitting in the front room. The girls sat on chairs, hands busy with embroidery. They were silent; afraid to say anything that might bring out their unvoiced trepidations. Cat was the first to hear them come in. Amy continued to thread her needle in and out of the piece of fabric, concentrating intently and blocking out everything around her.

Cat looked up, and upon seeing the four of them, alive and well, she could not contain her emotion. Her embroidery fell to the floor, momentarily forgotten, as she stood bolt upright. A single breath escaped her, and with it she spoke, "Archie." Without a second thought, she rushed into his arms, allowing the accumulation of her fears to be thrown aside.

Archie placed his arms on Cat's waist, amused by the light, surprised laughter that escaped her as he twirled her around. Amy noticed the commotion, and finally looked up, inhaling sharply as she did so. She stared at the four of them, all alive with smiles lighting their faces, and for a moment, her mask of indifference faltered. As her face changed, her companions noticed that for once, they were viewing the real Amy. In her eyes, they saw each and every fear and doubt. But in the next instant, the look was gone and once again, her audacious fire and confident smirk hid any worries she held.

The boys joined the girls in the front room, pulling up chairs for themselves. Amy smiled to herself as she observed that Archie's arm stayed stationary around Cat's waist. The boys exchanged pleasant conversation among themselves for a few minutes, talking about the décor around them, the weather, and other topics that were minuscule and, in Amy's frame of mind, highly unimportant.

Unable to stand not knowing any longer, she burst out impatiently, "Tell us what happened. Don't leave us hanging!" This interrupted Horatio's passionate critique of a nearby landscape painting. Then, realizing the grim connotation her words held, she added a contrite, "Please."

The lieutenants exchanged glances, debating who would be the one to answer. All eyes settled on Horatio, and he awkwardly cleared his throat, clearly not completely comfortable with being the spokesperson.

Whether it was due to irritation or shyness, Horatio kept his recount of the trial brief. "After listening to the testimony of Doctor Clive, the admirals decided that the removal of Captain Sawyer, however irregular, was not an act of mutiny. His fall into the hold was an unfortunate accident, as it resulted in his incapability of commanding. All members of the Renown were determined free of all charges."

It took all of Amy's self-control, which had thankfully grown since her arrival, to keep from jumping up and down, screaming with joy. Finally, all fear had been allayed. Instead, she resolved to wear an interpretable smile. Despite the finality of Horatio's words, she could not help but wonder, "Was _it_ brought up?"

This question received faux blank stares, though all of them knew exactly to what Amy was referring too. Yet, none dared to voice it aloud; any words uttered about the rumor of Sawyer being pushed into the hold could change everything.

"Was _what_ brought up, Amanda?" Bush asked her, his eyes boring into her, clearly sending her the message that she should seriously consider not bringing up this topic.

Ignoring his intense gaze, she answered, "The possibility that-

Cat gently pressed her foot over Amy's, just enough for the girl to notice. Amy looked at her friend, and Cat gave a tiny shake of her head. Understanding the message, Amy finished her sentence with an abrupt, "Never mind."

Noticing the potential silence that they were going to face, Cat changed the subject. The conversation flowed once again, with teasing and laughter and careless chatter. It was so good just to be alive; no one dwelled too long on what anyone thought. As the subject turned to London, and for plans once they returned home, Bush abruptly asked for a private word with Amy. Raising an eyebrow in question, Amy agreed, and the two made their way to a bench on the other side of the lobby, away and out of sight from the others.

"What did Clive say during his testimony?" asked Amy, trying not to sound too demanding. Truth be told, she was curious why the man had chosen to acknowledge the ill behavior of his longtime friend, when on the Renown he seemed content to ignore it.

Bush, caught off guard by Amy's question, couldn't help but answer honestly. "He told them that he authorized the Captain's removal, and that his fall had brought about erratic and destructive behavior. Clive had the oddest look on his face when he said it, too. It almost looked like he had tears in his eyes."

A moment of silence lapsed between them, and Bush broke it by saying, "Amanda, there's something I have to talk to you about."

She tilted her head, listening. "Yes?"

"After we were released from the trial, Admiral Pellew approached us with the arrangements he had made for you, the unfortunate passengers."

Amy opened her mouth to protest against the word 'unfortunate', but Bush silenced her with his finger.

"The Admiral will only allow you to return to England if you have a family tie or other valid reason for going there. Otherwise, you will be returned to America," he said, his blue eyes obviously distressed.

"Tell me a 'other valid reason'," Amy said, the playful smirk still present on her face.

"If you were married or engaged to an Englishman, you could travel with him to England," Bush replied, and for once, Amy could see clearly a nervousness in his eyes. Where the confident stare usually was, an unfamiliar and almost bashful look crossed Bush's face. For a few moments, Amy just observed Bush, who seemed to be wrestling with something.

"Just ask me," she said softly, and Bush's brow furrowed in confusion. "Ask me to marry you," she clarified, and watched as Bush's eyes widened, and a grin slowly spread over his face, telling Amy that she had guessed correctly the reason for his sudden discomfort.

Breathing out a shaky breath, Bush began, "Amanda, will you-

"No, you must do it right. Get down on one knee!" Amy insisted, and Bush, though confused and slightly annoyed by her request, did as she said. "Now ask," she said, smiling broadly.

Bush took her hand, and looking her in square in the eye he asked her, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she answered simply. Then, unable to control her inner capriciousness, she began to giggle. Bush laughed along with her, feeling a surge of happiness rush through him. He resumed his position on the bench beside her, pulling her into a kiss.

She pulled away from him, and they resumed their laughter, their stress and tiredness bubbling over into a pool of giddiness. After their frivolity had subsided, Amy asked, "Does this mean I can call you 'Willy' now?"

"No," he answered, a look of horror crossing his face. Amy laughed at his reaction.

"How about just 'Will'? Billy? Liam? " she asked, each nickname receiving an shake and internal shudder from Bush.

"You can call me 'William', Amy," he responded, and Amy's eyes went wide. Had he really just called her by the name that she had been trying to get him to call her for weeks? This man was full of surprises.

Meanwhile, Wellard made his way upstairs, repeating to himself continuously the description he received from Cat of which room was Lottie's. Cat had suggested that he wake her up, it was nearly three, and she would want to know what the result of the trail had been. Silently counting the number of rooms he passed, he approached last door on the right, and hesitantly opened it.

Seeing the unmistakable tumble of blond hair amongst the sheets, he closed the door softly behind him. The girl was sleeping peacefully on the bed, her fingers securely wrapped around fistfuls of the blanket she laid on. Wellard approached her quietly, kneeling down so his head was level with hers. Gently, he shook her shoulder, and Lottie came to live at once.

Blinking, she frowned, at first unsure of where she was. As her eyes focused on the figure in front of her, she gasped. She sat up quickly, shamelessly throwing her arms around him. A million thoughts passed through her mind, and she tried to suppress them.

He embraced her, and feeling her trembling, he assured her soothingly, "Everything is alright, Lottie. We're free." He repeated this several times, while his hands moved in calming circles on her back. Slowly, he felt her relax.

Lottie pulled away from him, sniffling slightly. Bright eyes brimmed with unshed tears of joy. "I had such awful dreams. But now you're here," she said, and then blushed, realizing how unrelated the two sentences were. Wellard just smiled, understanding. The girl embraced him repeatedly, covering him with small, deliberate kisses.

Eventually, she noticed the delicate, blue flowers that had been placed on the bedside table. Wellard grinned, and brought them to her, holding them out to her shyly. Lottie accepted the flowers, her eyes wide with wonder as she lifted them to her face and took in their fresh, slightly sweet fragrance. She was unsure of what type of flowers they were, but no matter—they were beautiful.

"Whatever are these for?" she asked him, laughing lightly with surprise. She could not think of an occasion that would prompt him to buy such a colorful gift. Though they were only flowers, to Lottie they were a generous and thoughtful token—one that she knew better than to take for granted.

"Well," Wellard said, his brown eyes winking playfully, "Every bride should carry a bouquet."

**So... where my reviewers at? Is anyone still reading this? **

**What if I offer to share my pumpkin pie with you? Or would you rather have cherry? I would offer you some strawberry cheesecake, but Archie ate it all. He can be so greedy sometimes. Around dessert, it's like he doesn't know the meaning of the word "self-control". Sheesh. I'll have to get Wellard to make another one. Who knew that boy had the potential to be such a great cook? He makes me brownies all the time. Yum.**

**BTW—there's a poll up on my profile asking whether you readers would like to see a sequel for this story or not. So vote now, please. **


	17. A Beginning From Many Endings

**Well, it's been a long ride. It took me about a year to write this whole thing. I sure hope it was worth it. **

**Thank you, in alphabetical order:**

Assassin Ada Weathers, Define X (HorseLuv), DiegoReedeemedLover, Evelienhs, glalf, Gollum4077, HumanAlien (Lisa), IreneAndFrodoForever, IspikedThePunch, Keivanatae, Lady Nelson, Laura, orlande22, Owlkin, Papya, PrinceJonathan, ScarletRoseX, scgirl-317, StariiEyes, supernaturaldeanandsam, Tireless Ship of the Line, WonderWomanFan

**You've been **_die besten Leser in der Scheisswelt—_**the best readers in the whole crapping world. (Kudos if you know who that's from, btw)**

**With no further ado, I give you the last installment. Enjoy it; I know it's pathetically short. Review one last time, please! **

_Chapter 16: A Beginning From Many Endings_

Lottie woke early, feeling the first sun rays of the new day warm on her skin and the light invading the peaceful darkness of her eyes. Realizing she probably wouldn't fall back asleep, she opened her eyes slowly, taking in the brightness of her surroundings. Glancing down, she admired the string tied around her ring finger. It symbolized that she was now a married woman. The string, Wellard had promised, would quickly be replaced with a silver band as soon as they reached England.

Rolling onto her side, she saw the figure of her friend, her love, now husband—Henry Wellard, still sleeping peacefully. They had been married yesterday, in the Kingston Protestant Church. After they had said their vows, the couple had rushed off to a nearby tavern, where the officers and some of the crewmen from the Renown joined them in celebration. Even Pellew had attended the gathering, having a soft-spot in his heart for the women passengers. The afternoon had been spent consuming too much drink, dancing, laughing, and other merriments. As the evening approached, the newly-weds departed for the inn, their friends cat-calling and throwing slightly drunken, off-colored jokes after them.

There was only one person who had not enjoyed himself at the wedding. Buckland had made a brief appearance, then begging the bride's apology, he left under the alibi that he was feeling under the weather. Lottie felt a tinge of pity for the man, remembering that he had once said to the lieutenants, "You're so full of yourselves, and of each other." Though on the surface his comment seemed like a simple insult, she knew that it held many feeling unexpressed; his self-pity for his unpopularity, his fear of making the wrong decision, his jealously over the fact that his younger officers were liked, handsome, and capable—everything that he wasn't.

Lottie had seen him slipping away as the trial had approached. Even after the trial his eyes held no happiness, no succor at being dismissed from the mutiny charge. His naval career had reached a stale-mate. Most of his depression had begun to overflow to alcohol, something that wouldn't do him any good. He had said his farewell to the girls, and as he left the tavern, it occurred to Lottie that she would most likely never see him again.

Smiling softly, Lottie inched closer to Wellard and laid her head down onto the pillow beside him. He looked so calm, so serene when he slept. Knowing it would feel like a crime if she woke him, she let him sleep. His dark hair contrasted beautifully with his pale, freckled face. It felt silly to admit, but she knew that she would enjoy being able to wake up next to Wellard. Minutes passed while she contented herself by just watching his blissful slumber; his chest rose and fell evenly, not a single crease crossed his face.

Unable to resist, she gently ran her finger along an old scar near the top of his arm. He twitched slightly and long lashes fluttered. Sleepily he murmured, "Lottie?"

Lottie ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his head tenderly. "Shh," she soothed, "I'm here." He was quiet after this, and not opening his eyes and probably still half-asleep he rolled onto his side and laid his head drowsily onto her shoulder, burying his face into her hair and exhaling contently. Lottie resumed the stroking of his hair lazily, musing about the events that had taken place.

Glancing around her—no, now it was their—inn room, all the memories of the previous evening flooded back to her. And what a night it had been! The best of her life, that was for certain. This is where they would be staying until their ship set sail. It was sad to think that this was her last day in Jamaica, her last day to stroll around the docks without a care in the world. Now that her worries had ceased, it had become much easier to recognize the beauty the Jamaican island held.

There were obviously things that she wouldn't miss about this place, the humidity, the heat. But there were some things she would miss—the people she had befriended, for one.

The Comtese and her daughters had by now left for Boston on the American Frigate, the _Liberty_. Their farewell had been tearful, as both parties knew that the chances of ever coming in contact again were slim. Colette had been the brightest, confident that one day the three American mademoiselles would come and visit them in their new home in Massachusetts.

Lottie found that she was even going to miss Hobbs. Yes, she couldn't believe it herself. It brought a sense of finality to their story, his leaving did. Their voyage with the Renown had come to a conclusion, their journey had ended. Never again would Lottie walk those dark, unforgettable decks. Never again would she felt that seizing apprehension. Never again would she be the same.

Now, the three—that is, Amy, Cat and Lottie—along with most of the Renown's former crew had been granted passage to England on the newly re-named ship, the _Retribution_, compliments of Pellew. Horatio, having been promoted, would be the Captain of the _Retribution_ until they reached England, where he would achieve the command of the frigate, the _Hotspur_.

Commodore Pellew was due to travel back to England as well, and would be commanding, once again, the HMS Indefatigable. A complete tour of the Inde had been promised to the three ladies before their departure from Jamaica. Pellew was more than happy to show off his ship; it was his most dear possession in addition to his family.

The Admiral had confessed to the girls the previous night, after the wine had loosened his tongue and his thoughts, that he was uncertain how exactly he would explain everything to the Admiralty once they reached England. It was a difficult position to be in, especially when Sawyer had been thought of so highly. "Nevertheless," he had told them, "Life has been preserved," he said, shooting a glance at the lieutenants, who were teasing Wellard jollily, "Even if a name has been tarnished. I suppose the Admiralty will have to decide which is the most important result."

Lottie had never fully agreed with the chosen title, 'Retribution'—though now that her journey and the trial had passed, she disagreed completely. She thought that the name 'Reconciliation' would be more fitting, considering the circumstances. After all, mercy and forgiveness had clearly been shown more than justice and discipline. There were countless examples.

Bush and Amy, who had once been enemies, were now quite the opposite, engaged. Hobbs had reconciled with those who disliked him: the lieutenants, Wellard, and even Lottie. Wellard had forgiven his fellow midshipmen, Johnson, Delaney, Collins and Brennan, for their cruelty and now the five laughed and jested together as if they were brothers. And finally, if not most importantly, Clive's testimony had persuaded the admirals to free the lieutenants of the Renown of all charges. However, the name 'Reconciliation' just didn't seem to be the right name for a ship, according to the Admiralty's standards. Since when did the navy ever listen to the idea of forgiveness?

After the wedding party, Amy had giddily informed Lottie and Cat that William had proposed to her—and that she had accepted. If it had been up to Bush, he would have had them married eminently, strolling over to the courthouse to see it done. But Amy had advised him to wait, perhaps once they set sail. "He's so impatient, it's ridiculous," she had told her friends, rolling her eyes. However, both Lottie and Cat knew that underneath her surfacing annoyance, Amy was positively flattered at Bush's eagerness.

Amy's excuse for holding off on the ceremony was that she had always wanted to know if it was true that the Captain of a ship had the right to marry a couple while at sea. "It would do Horatio some good, you know, to have some different experience," she had said, smirking, knowing how awkward it would be for the newly established Captain to go about such a procedure.

Of all the men Lottie had thought Amy might marry, William Bush had not been one of them. The two certainly made a fitting—if not quarrelsome—pair. However, she could have not been more thrilled with Amy's excitement. Her friend had matured considerably through this voyage. Though she would always be playful at heart, her wild behavior had subsided somewhat. Lottie liked to think it was because of Bush that she had grown so. Or, maybe it was this place; the people that had influenced her, the places she had been, the things she had seen. Though it was not only Amy that had changed, Bush too, had become more relaxed in his usual strict manner. He would always have that sourpuss attitude, but deep down, he was surprisingly compassionate, and fiercely protective of those he cared about.

As for Cat, she and her soon to be husband—Archie Kennedy—planned to marry as soon as the two reached England. Both hated the wait, but thought it for the best—as Archie could first introduce his lovely fiancée to his family. Lottie thought that this conclusion to their journey was quite similar to the ending of a Jane Austen novel. All three poor girls were going to be or already were happily married. Two were quite expected from the start, and the third pleasantly surprising.

The ship, the Retribution, was anchored in the bay, ready and waiting to carry the ladies home. _Home._ The word had taken on quite a different meaning since the start of this adventure. Through this journey Lottie had learned so much. The Horatio Hornblower movies had become her life, not just mere entertainment. Once, near the start, it had bothered her terribly that she would never know again the ease and familiarity of her own life. Now, she had become used to this life and no longer was pained by the thought of her old one. She would surely remember it often, especially her family, but distantly, like a long ago dream.

Where this life would take her, she had no idea. She didn't how she would survive as a working wife in England. However intimidating, she found that she welcomed this new season of life, this new journey. With God above and Wellard at her side, she knew she could take on any hardship this life brought her. For one of the rare times in her life, she was confident, fearless, and did not feel anxious about the uncertain future. Though this adventure had finally come to a close, a new one awaited her. A beginning from many endings had emerged, and an adventure was waiting around the corner—one that she couldn't wait to start.

_End._

**Let me know via voting on my poll whether you would like me to write a sequel or not. Thank you so much for reading this story, everyone! Have a merry Christmas and a very happy New Year. Check back in the next six months; you'll see more from me. **

**Lady E out. **

**And I totally met my end-of-year deadline. Kudos to me.**

**Oh, and Define X... I BEAT YOU! SO THERE! Now finish your story, please.**

**Seriously, I'm going now. **

**Tchüss.**

EDIT 2012: **There will be a sequel to Reconciliation—a much shorter and fluffier story, to be sure. Hopefully it will be posted around Fall 2012, God (and my life) willing. Check back once in awhile, okay? Peace. **


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